


all signs point to yes

by vvelna



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: After being fired from his job at a coffee shop in Gatwick Airport, Dan impulsively hops on a flight to Orlando, Florida, where he’s taken in by a family on holiday.





	all signs point to yes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/gifts).

> thank you for commissioning this! i never would have written this story if not for your prompts.

**WEDNESDAY**

Dan’s hands shake as he struggles to dial the combination on his locker. He’s hunched over in the breakroom, bent to reach his locker on the third from the bottom row. It finally clicks and the door swings open. He pushes aside various bits of trash and yanks out his crumpled black messenger bag.

His manager was so nice about it, almost like she didn’t want to fire him but had no choice. And he supposes she didn’t. He was late all the time and missed at least one shift every week. It wasn’t like that in the beginning, four months ago when he got the job. Back then he was really pushing himself to do better. Be better. But soon enough he fell back into old patterns. Some days he just can’t get out of bed. Some days he makes it out of his room but has to draw the line at actually leaving his flat. He often suffers from bouts of insomnia, finally finding rest in the earliest hours of the morning, and sleeping through his alarm.

At work he moves about like a zombie, making mistakes and messing up people’s drink orders. The pace of the work is unforgiving. The patrons and his coworkers radiate high levels of stress. But Dan just can’t be bothered.

Today, he had arrived at the coffee shop forty-five minutes late for his shift. He forgot his apron and the name badge pinned to it at home, after bringing it back to his flat to try and wash out the giant stain from a cappuccino he’d spilled on himself. Kristina called him into her office, sat him down, and explained that he was being let go.

“Let go” is such a funny phrase to Dan. Like they were all holding hands, clinging to some kind of life raft, and then they decided to let Dan drift away. It felt like she was trying to spare his delicate feelings. He would’ve preferred it if she’d just said he was fired.

He has to clear out his locker. The trash and the messenger bag is all that’s in it. Inside the bag is his wallet, a spare phone charger, one pair of clean pants, and his passport in a Ziploc bag. There used to be a bag with cash as well, but he had to use that to cover last month’s rent. Dan has always been prepared for the worst. He didn’t think he’d actually run away, but he’s been ready to do it. 

Dan grabs his bag, dumps the trash in the bin, and scurries out of the shop as swiftly as he can. He doesn’t want to interact with any of his coworkers on the way out. When he arrived at work they all avoided eye contact, so he isn’t too worried about any of them approaching him for a heartfelt goodbye. He wonders if they all knew he was being fired, or at least suspected. He’s pretty sure none of them like him. They’re probably relieved that the dead weight has been released. Let go.

The escape plan has always been more of a vague reassurance than a concrete idea. Dan clutches his bag tight to his body and stares up at a departure board to see if there is anywhere in the world he can run to. His eyes land on a flight to Orlando International Airport. He’s never been to the States before. The flight is set to depart in twenty minutes.

Dan checks the terminal number and does some mental calculations. If he runs, he can probably make it there and buy a ticket it time to board. He already went through security when he arrived for work. He has no luggage to check, just the messenger bag he can carry on without a fuss. There might not be any seats left though, and the tickets are probably pricey…

He takes off running, weaving through crowds of people.

There is one seat left in economy. They sell him a standby ticket for 115 pounds. One way. If Dan believed in miracles, he would consider this one. He makes it to the last boarding call, and soon he’s wedged into a tiny seat between a woman who smells like feet and a man who is loudly, wetly chewing gum. His knees press painfully into the back of the seat in front of him, and he can already feel one of his legs going numb. He holds his arms in tight to his sides to avoid touching his neighbors and tilts his head back. In nine hours and twenty minutes, he’ll be in sunny Orlando, Florida.

Dan has never been on a flight this long. He’s surprised by three things: how much pain his legs are in after just the first hour, how impossible it is to sleep despite how dreadfully tired he feels, and how strong his bladder is. Despite all the complementary orange juice he drinks, he only has to pee once. He makes two other unnecessary trips to the bathroom, just for an excuse to stretch his legs. The airplane toilet feels like an upright coffin. He sits to pee for fear that they’ll hit turbulence, which would surely lead to embarrassing results.

He receives some kind of slimy turkey sandwich, accompanied by small, sweaty cubes of cheese and damp bread. His neighbor to the right has some kind of fancy salad they probably secured ahead of time by not hopping on a flight at the last minute. His neighbor to the left sleeps through the entire flight. They’re so still the whole time; Dan finds himself wondering what the protocol is for someone dying on a plane mid-flight.

All the nerves in his legs wake up as he exits the plane, sending pinprick stabs of pain throughout. At least it’s over. Now he just has to get through border security and…do whatever the fuck he plans on doing in Florida.

Dan feels a bit like a secret agent. But like, a soon-to-be retired one who’s sort of done with it all. He’s able to concoct a lazy—but apparently convincing—story about visiting a friend who is in poor health in Orlando. He isn’t sure if telling them he works at Gatwick helped. Of course, that’s a lie now too.

He wanders the airport aimlessly for a bit. It’s not like he has anywhere to be. It’s absolutely massive compared to Gatwick. It’s the type of place you could get lost in forever. You could probably live there for a while before anyone noticed--just sleep against the walls like your flight has been delayed, bounce around from one restaurant to the next. He knows that wouldn’t actually work, but he still entertains the idea for a moment.

When Dan finally leaves the cool sanctuary of the airport, his first impression of Florida is that it’s wet. It isn’t raining, but the atmosphere is so humid he can feel sweat beading on his skin after only walking for a few minutes. His straightened fringe begins to frizz and curl.

He bypasses the queue of cabs awaiting passengers, heading on foot down a road pedestrians probably aren’t intended to use. His bag feels heavy on the sore muscles of his shoulder, yet he is acutely aware of how little it contains.

Everything hits at once. He’s no longer in the limbo between an impulsive decision and its consequences. He’s really in a foreign country, where he knows no one, without even a change of clothes, enough money to stay at a hotel for more than a night, or any sort of plan. What the fuck is he doing?

Dan’s breaths become short and his legs melt to jelly. He stumbles up a bank of grass and sinks to the ground. He closes his eyes and tucks his head between his knees, trying to block out the frightening, unfamiliar world around him.

This is by far the stupidest thing he’s ever done, or at least top five. The sun beats down on the back of his head and neck. His current position increases the heat of his body to an unbearable point, so he reluctantly uncurls himself, spreading his legs out in front of him on the hot grass. He tips his head back, eyes shut. He doesn’t even have sunglasses.

He nearly shits himself when a loud honk sounds in front of him. His eyes fly open as he not-so-quietly swears.

A navy blue car is pulled up against the shoulder. The sun glints off its slick surface. He squints at it as the window rolls down and a middle-aged woman with a light brown bob and sunglasses sticks her head out.

“Do you need a ride, dear?”

The woman’s accent throws him. She’s definitely British, northern by the sound of it. Not a native Floridian or a tourist from another part of America.

She asks him again if he needs a ride. Maybe he’s hallucinating from the heat and panic. He stands up slowly, swaying. She smiles at him and gestures for him to come closer. He bends over and grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and takes a few steps toward the car.

She doesn’t look like a murderer, but then again, to his knowledge he’s never met a murderer. He has two choices—die from heat exhaustion by the side of the road, or get in a stranger’s car. He strides forward, realizing with a bit of confusion that he needs to walk around to the other side to open the passenger door.

Once inside, he sighs with relief. The air inside is cool and refreshing. At least if he dies now, he’ll die comfortably. The radio is whispering some sort of easy-listening music. His northern savior rolls up the window and merges back into traffic.

“Are you lost? Where can I take you?”

Dan swallows. His throat is dry. “Yes...and, I don’t know?”

She doesn’t remark on his accent. “You don’t know where you’re headed?”

“Yeah, I sort of came here spontaneously.” Dan isn’t sure why he doesn’t just lie.

The woman nods without looking at him and hums under her breath. She seems to be thinking something over.

“I’m Kathryn, but you can call me Kath if you like.”

He’s already sure he’ll never call her Kath. Certainly not in the time it’ll take her to drop him off somewhere.

“I’m Dan.”

“Well, Dan, I bet you’ve had a long day. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

The sun is setting overhead, painting streaks of pink and violet above the palm trees. Dan leans back and closes his eyes. What does he have to lose now? He has no job and no plan, and he doesn’t know anyone here. Except this Kathryn lady.

“Okay. Thanks.”

Dan dozes off for a bit, and when he wakes up, they’re pulling onto a road lined with nearly identical houses bordered by neat hedges. Spotlights along the driveways illuminate bushes of colorful exotic flowers. Kathryn turns into one of the driveways and parks the car.

“We’re here,” she says, turning to smile at him. The sunglasses disappeared sometime while he was out.

“Here?” His head is still thick with sleep. He rubs his eyes and swallows around the dryness in his mouth and throat.

“Our villa. One of our favorite places to stay on holiday.”

All the grogginess evaporates from Dan’s brain.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“You have nowhere else to go, right?” Kathryn’s voice is gentle but firm.

“Yeah, but—”

“Then you’ll stay here.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and prepares to exit the car. “Now there’s some bags in the boot, if you’ll lend a hand.”

Kathryn is so much smaller now that Dan’s seeing her stood upright. He follows her around to the boot of the car where she reveals four plastic bags of groceries. He grabs them and nods at her to signal that yes, he is going to carry them all by himself.

He follows her up the path to the house. Little lights are dancing in the grass, and he stops to stare at them. As they blink on and off he realizes they must be fireflies. He’s never seen those before.

“Coming in, dear?”

He tears his attention away from the mesmerizing display and follows Kathryn into the house.

Dan’s first two impressions are that the ceilings are too low, making him feel somewhat claustrophobic, and that the house is so clearly a rented holiday home and not a place anyone lives year round. Everything is just too coordinated and carefully considered, but at the same time, lacking the keen eye of a legitimate interior decorator. Dan realizes in that moment, as his eyes sweep the room, that he’s being a bit snobbish, which is funny taking into account the dump he lives in.

The main themes of the décor and furnishings are rattan, subdued tropical flower prints, and teak wood. Everything must be either boring but deceptively expensive, or cheap but made to look expensive. He honestly can’t decide.

He follows Kathryn through the first room and around a corner into the kitchen, bags in tow. The plastic handles dig into the palms of his hands and he’s looking forward to putting them down.

The appliances and cabinets in the kitchen look rather dated, and distinctly American. He sure he’s seen this exact kitchen in some forgotten 90s sitcom.

A pale green plastic tablecloth with a parrot pattern is draped over the kitchen table, surrounded by six simple ladderback chairs painted green to match. A man is sitting in one of the chairs. He has his head down, glasses pushed to the tip of his nose as he reads a book.

“You can put the bags right on the counter by the range,” Kathryn tells Dan. 

He doesn’t move because it seems highly inappropriate to pretend the man’s not there.

The man puts the book facedown on the table to hold his place and pushes his glasses back up his nose. He looks calmly between Kathryn and Dan.

“Who’s this?” he asks. He doesn’t seem at all concerned that a strange man has followed his wife (Dan assumes) into the house.

“This is Dan.” Kathryn takes one of the bags out of Dan’s hand and moves toward the counter.

This prompts him to finally follow and put the rest of them down. He rubs the red lines on his hands. And finally remembers to say “Hello.”

“Hello,” the man echoes. He has a quizzical expression on his face. “I’m Nigel.” He holds out a hand for Dan to shake.

Dan has no idea how to categorize the energy currently buzzing about the kitchen. It’s all too serene for the situation at hand.

“Where did you find Dan?” Nigel asks Kathryn, who’s busying herself putting groceries away in the cabinets and refrigerator.

He wonders how many strangers Kathryn’s brought home before. In a completely innocent way…unless. Oh god. Was this some kind of swingers type situation? The vibes he’d been getting from Kathryn were motherly, not sexual, but maybe he was just naïve. Either that or he’s just being completely irrational now.

“By the side of the road. Poor lad’s here on a lark and has nowhere to go.”

Nigel nods, picking up his book again. “Well, that’s alright then, I suppose.”

Dan continues to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. Kathryn turns to him and appears to be about to say something, when the sound of someone bounding down the stairs on heavy feet interrupts her.

Dan whips his head around, heart in his throat. He hadn’t expected there to be anyone else in the house.

A voice reaches them first, deep and northern, though the accent isn’t as strong as Kathryn and Nigel’s.

“Mum, do you know if—Oh!”

The speaker arrives in the doorway. It’s a young man with black hair and a fringe not unlike Dan’s. He’s also tall, like Dan, and skinny. His eyes are wide as he stares at Dan.

“This is Dan,” Kathryn says cheerily, coming forward to rest a hand on Dan’s back.

“Uh…ok?” Phil seems to realize he’s staring and looks awake.

“Dan, this is Phil. Our son.”

Nigel is engrossed in his book, and nods without looking up, to confirm that Phil is indeed his son.

“I’m sure you’ve had quite a long day,” Kathryn says to Dan. “Phil, be a good boy and take Dan up to Martyn’s room, won’t you?”

Dan grips the strap of his messenger bag tightly. Martyn? Was there yet another person in this house?

Phil hesitates, clearly confused, but then he sighs and turns around. He heads off without a word to Dan, who looks back at Kathryn with questioning eyes.

“Go on then,” she encourages.

So Dan follows. The stairs aren’t far from the kitchen. Phil begins to ascend and he walks behind him, watching the shiny black hair on the back of his head, and taking in the bright yellow shirt stretched across his shoulders.

“My mum is so weird,” Phil says, briefly looking over his shoulder at Dan. “She’s going to invite a murderer back one of these days.”

He stops short while Dan keeps going and almost runs into him. He turns around as best he can on the narrow step. “You’re not a murderer, are you?”

Phil’s eyes are piercing blue, boring into Dan’s. His voice is solemn.

“No?” Dan says, like he’s not sure.

Phil’s eyes soften and he smirks. “Oh, well, that’s good.”

He turns back around and heads up the last few steps. Dan waits for a few seconds before he follows. Phil was definitely just fucking with him, and his face warms.

A hallway extends in both directions at the top of the stairs, and Phil turns to the left.

“Martyn’s room is just at the end here.”

“Who’s Martyn?”

“My brother. He was here last week but had to leave early.”

Dan is relieved that he won’t have to meet anyone else tonight.

The walk to Martyn’s unoccupied room is short, but Dan pauses briefly when his eyes catch on one of the pictures hanging on the wall. Two male lions rest together, heads touching, paws overlapping.

“Gay lions,” says Phil, not even looking back at Dan as he opens a door. “Can’t believe the owners never noticed I replaced the original picture in that frame.”

“Right. Gay lions.” Dan keeps his voice steady, despite the anxiety that flooded his brain the second Phil said the word  _ gay _ .

Phil flips the light switch and steps back so Dan can enter the bedroom.

“Ta-da!”

It’s small. Bigger than Dan’s room back in London though. The walls are painted the palest yellow that appears white at first, and there’s a white chenille blanket spread smoothly over the bed. A picture of a sailboat hangs on the wall to the right of the bed. Dan prefers the lions.

“So, make yourself at home, I guess?” says Phil. His voice is quiet now and he’s shifting his weight back and forth nervously.

Phil must not be as nonchalant about the whole situation as his parents. He’s uneasy, like Dan is. He did a fairly good job of hiding it for the past five minutes, but the illusion is starting to fall apart. Phil’s clear discomfort lessens Dan’s own. It takes some of the surrealness out of the situation. This  _ is  _ weird. But Dan’s not the only one who thinks so, and that’s a relief.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“The bathroom is the first room on the other side of the hall, and--Oh! Wait!”

Phil dashes out of the room, leaving Dan alone. He drops his bag on the floor and sits on the bed. His brief nap in the car didn’t help much. He’s so tired he could fall asleep sitting up, but he manages to stay awake until Phil returns a few minutes later, carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms.

“I put a towel out for you and a spare toothbrush. I left it in the packaging so you can open it up yourself.”

He places the clothes on the bed and backs away. “Here’s some pajamas. I promise they’re clean.”

Dan reaches over and unfolds the garments. There’s a big white t-shirt with an illustration of an alligator wearing sunglasses as it lounges by a pool, and soft blue pajama pants with an allover print of little owls.

“Thank you.”

Dan might cry. It’s mostly because of the day he’s had. Losing his job and hopping on a plane to a foreign country is draining. But he’s also just overwhelmed by the kindness of these complete strangers. He certainly hasn’t done anything to deserve it.

“Well. Goodnight, Dan,” says Phil, leaving Dan clutching the clothes in his hands. He backs out of the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“G’night,” Dan mumbles. He knows Phil can’t hear him.

He sits on the bed for a minute. All he wants is to go to sleep. His body is reaching its limits, but his brain is still on edge. He can’t sleep with a dirty mouth, so he might as well brush his teeth at least. Gathering all that remains of his strength, he heaves himself to his feet. He opens the bedroom door a crack, peering out to make sure there’s no one in the hall. Across the way, the bathroom door is ajar. He dashes across the hall.

The lights in the bathroom are too bright. The walls are pink, as is the tub and the toilet. A strip of wallpaper around the middle of the walls features colorful birds and leafy vegetation. The rooms in the house really don’t go together at all, when taken as a whole, but each one is cohesive on its own.

Just as Phil said, there’s a fluffy pink towel carefully folded and set on the counter by one of the two sinks, and an unopened toothbrush set on top. It’s orange with soft bristles. Dan prefers hard bristles as he has a tendency to destroy anything else with his zealous brushing, but that hardly matters now. He’d love some floss too, but that doesn’t matter either. God, he’s so tired. He rips open the packaging and grabs the tube of toothpaste off the counter.

He rinses his mouth with water in a little paper cup (also pink), then goes back to his room.

He strips off his clothes, leaving only his pants. Normally he’d just go to bed like that, but he decides to put on the pajamas Phil brought him. They’re so fucking cozy. That’s what breaks the dam. Tears start falling fast. He gets into bed, pulling the sheet and blanket up over his head, and buries his face in the pillow.

Dan cries for a long time, only stopping when he falls asleep.

**THURSDAY**

Dan wakes up the next morning, and for about thirty seconds he doesn’t remember where he is or what happened. Then his brain hits him with a sped-up recap of yesterday’s events. He groans and pulls the pillow over his head, squishing his nose into the mattress.

He’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten since the plane, which feels like a lifetime ago. He doesn’t want to move, but he doubts the establishment provides room service, so he forces himself out of bed. He crouches down on the floor and rifles through his bag to find his phone. It’s dead. He searches some more and finds its charger tangled up near the bottom of the bag. He’s about to plug it into an outlet by the wall when he realizes he doesn’t have an adapter for the outlet. No phone then.

He has no idea what time it is, but judging by the intensity of the sunlight coming through the window, it’s not early morning. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head until his joints pop. His stomach growls. He needs food.

But first, he needs to sort himself out a bit. He doesn’t have spare clothes, except a pair of pants, so he’ll have to put on what he was wearing the day before. He gathers up his clothes in a crumpled ball and slips out of his room and to the bathroom.

The shower is heaven. The water is hot and the pressure is hard, soothing all the aches Dan acquired during his day of travel. He uses someone’s “zesty lemon” body wash and the intense smell wakes him up further. He almost doesn’t want to get out.The water starts to run cold, and it’s refreshing. If not for his empty stomach, he might just stay in there for an hour. He reluctantly turns the water off, then pulls the curtain back and grabs his towel from the hook he hung it on.

After he dries off, he steps out and goes to stand in front of the mirror. He wipes away some of the condensation with his hand and remembers he doesn’t have a straightener. His hair hasn’t fully reverted back to its curliest state, but it’s nearly there. He frowns at his reflection. Having stupid hair should be the least of his worries right now, but it’s just one more thing reminding him of how half-assed this whole plan was. If you could even call it a plan.

He hates having to put his dirty jeans and jumper back on. He sweat quite a lot yesterday. He draws the line at donning his smelly socks, opting to go barefoot.

Dan can’t hear any voices drifting up from downstairs as he exits the bathroom, or any signs of life at all. Maybe everyone’s out doing holiday things. Whatever it was tourists did in Orlando. Disney World? Swamp tours?

He tiptoes downstairs. He wants to make as little noise as possible, even though he’s pretty sure there’s no one in the house. He feels like an intruder. He’s not supposed to be here, and maybe when his hosts come back they’ll realize that and kick him out.

He’s about to walk straight into the kitchen when a sound from the lounge makes him freeze. It’s a quiet sound. He’s not even sure he heard it. It was probably wind.

He turns around and creeps toward the room. He hears the sound again and sees now that it’s coming from the sofa. Something has shifted slightly on it. The sofa’s back is to him; the rattan frame and the beige cushions of its high back block his view of what’s on it until he walks closer and...it’s just Phil. His heart slows. He hadn’t even realized it was beating so fast.

Phil is lying on the sofa, head resting against a pillow, legs bent up with his laptop on his stomach, its screen resting against his thighs. He’s wearing Hello Kitty pajamas bottoms and a navy blue t-shirt.

“Hi,” Dan says, tentatively.

Phil’s head whips up to face Dan. He screams. The sound is so piercing and unexpected; Dan can’t help but scream back. Phil slides off the sofa with a loud thump, his laptop following after.

Dan catches his breath and hurries around the front of the sofa.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” says Phil. He sits up, hand clutching his chest.

Dan crouches down on the floor beside him. 

“I’m really sorry.” He doesn’t know if he should touch Phil or not, so his hands just hover around his body.

“My heart’s beating so fast. My laptop…is my laptop okay?”

Phil grabs the overturned macbook and holds it carefully. The lid is covered with overlapping stickers. It makes Dan cringe a bit; he prides himself on the clean silver sheen of his own laptop.

“I’m really sorry,” Dan repeats. He doesn’t know what else to do, now that the chaos has died down. He just wants to apologize himself out of the entire situation.

Phil turns to face him then, and it’s the best look Dan’s got of his face since they met. He can’t look away, as if Phil’s bewitched him with his blue eyes. He smells like zesty lemon bodywash, just like Dan. He has a mole near his mouth, that Dan wouldn’t have noticed if his eyes hadn’t drifted in that direction.

He snaps out of it when Phil speaks.

“I forgot you were here. I slept in and I thought I was alone in the house.”

“I thought I was alone in the house, too.”

Dan’s stomach chooses that moment to gurgle obnoxiously. He’s sitting so close to Phil; there’s no way he didn’t hear it. Phil confirms this by laughing.

“Sorry, I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“You apologize a lot,” Phil says, not unkindly. He starts to stand up so Dan gets to his feet as well. “I’m hungry, too. I ate some cereal but...” He rubs his stomach.“You know how it is with cereal.”

Dan’s not sure how it is with cereal.

“I’m a bottomless cereal depository.” He rubs his stomach. “I don’t know where it goes.”

Dan nods. There’s something  _ different _ about Phil. He can’t put his finger on it, but whatever it is, he thinks he likes it.

“Do you like IHOP?” 

“I’ve never been,” says Dan. He can’t remember what IHOP is.

“Well, do you like American pancakes?” Phil tilts his head to the side as he questions Dan, regarding him like he’s trying to figure him out.

Dan’s only had them once in his life that he can recall, but they were okay.

“They have other stuff too, if you don’t like pancakes.”

“Anything is fine.”

“Right.” Phil taps his finger against his mouth, face set in concentration. “Now we just have to figure out how to get there. Mum and Dad took the rental. I can’t drive anyway…”

“We could just call an uber?” Dan suggests. He’ll fucking walk if that’s what it takes to get him to food.

“Of course! Where’s my phone?” Phil bends and starts feeling around the sofa cushions, lifting them up to check underneath. “Do you have yours?”

“It’s dead. I don’t have an adapter.”

Phil straightens up. He doesn’t fix the cushions he disturbed.

“I think my phone’s upstairs. Come with; you can borrow my charger.”

Phil hurries out of the room and bounds up the stairs. Dan pushes the cushions back in place, then follows. It occurs to him that the groceries he carried in for Kathryn the other day are all still waiting in the kitchen. Why is he going along with this IHOP plan when he could be stuffing his face down there? Might be a bit rude. He’s still struggling with processing and accepting the charity these strangers are offering him.

Phil’s room is the opposite direction from Dan’s. He catches up and stands in the doorway while Phil moves about. The room isn’t so different from the one he’s using, with the exception of the amount of personal effects strewn everywhere. Phil’s suitcase is open on the floor. He seems to have only unpacked halfway, leaving clothing and tangles of wires spilling out. Some of his things have made it into the little bureau against the wall. One drawer isn’t closed fully and a sock is dangling over the edge. On the bed, there’s a pillow that doesn’t match the décor. Its case is blue and green, and Phil must have brought it from home. That makes Dan smile a bit, but mostly the state of the room just stresses him out.

Phil retrieves both his phone and charger, which he hands to Dan. Back in his own bare, clean room, Dan plugs his phone into the wall and waits for it to rise from the dead. When it does he sees that it’s nearly 12pm.

“Dan?”

He turns to see Phil standing in the doorway. “The car should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes is entirely too long to wait. And they have to drive there. And then they have to order and wait for their food.

“In the meantime, maybe you could have something to put you on.”

“What?” Dan has no clue what Phil means.

“There’s plenty of food downstairs. Come on!”

Back down in the kitchen, Dan eats two bananas and a buttered crumpet. He isn’t overly self-conscious about it, because Phil makes himself a slice of toast, so he isn’t eating alone.

“I hope you’ll still have room for pancakes,” Phil teases. 

“Mate, you have no idea how much room I have.”

Phil giggles and Dan smiles, watching him. He’s surprised by how at ease he is. If he was just chilling with Kathryn and Nigel right now, he’d probably be a lot more on edge. That could have something to do with the age difference, but he doesn’t think that’s all of it.

Phil is staring at his chest. He glances down to see if he’s managed to smear banana mush or butter on himself.

“Do you want to borrow a t-shirt? I think you’ll be a bit toasty in that.”

The striped jumper Dan’s wearing is perfect for the airport air-conditioning, but not so well suited to Florida’s heat and humidity. Dan knows he has the willpower to get by without changing, but if Phil’s offering…

Upstairs, Phil lays out a bunch of rather wrinkled options. Everything he owns seems to be brightly colored, plaid, or both.

“Do you have anything more…subdued?” Dan asks. It’s a testament to his level of comfort that he feels entitled to be picky.

“How about this?” says Phil, holding up a blue and purple tie-dyed shirt.

“If that’s the best you can do.” He sighs dramatically. His stomach groans and ruins the moment.

“You’re so cool,” says Phil, laughing. His phone chirps then and he gasps, startled.

“You too.”

“Ride’s here!”

Dan grabs the shirt and makes for the bathroom. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, then swaps shirts. Phil’s t-shirt doesn’t fit perfectly, but he doesn’t look like he’s wearing someone else’s clothes. At least not in the mind of the hypothetical outside observers he’s channeling.

His hair is tragic. He tries to flatten it down and sculpt it into a somewhat pleasing shape with water, but just makes it worse.

“Dan!”

He doesn’t have time for vanity right now. Food is all that matters.

IHOP is busy. It’s mostly families with children. Dan and Phil appear to be the only group consisting of just two men. Despite the crowd, they get seated rather quickly, as the larger groups can’t occupy the tiny two-person booths.

For some inexplicable reason, a woman in clown makeup is going around making balloon animals. Dan’s menu is slightly sticky to the touch, and he feels too big for the booth. He’s not digging the vibe of this place at all.

Phil flips through his menu briefly before closing it. Dan spends a bit more time. There’s so many options to choose from. He decides to go with pancakes, as suggested by Phil.

Their server is a woman with curly hair piled impressively high on her head. She has a faded tattoo sleeve and more rings on her hands than fingers. Her nametag reads  _ Shyanne _ , with a little purple smiley face sticker after the e.

“My name’s Shyanne. Can I start you off with something to drink? Or are you ready to order?” She has a surprisingly gravelly voice. He wonders if she’s a smoker, or maybe a singer with poor vocal technique.

“I think we’re ready to order,” says Phil, looking at Dan for confirmation. He nods.

Dan doesn’t catch what Phil says to Shyanne next, because he’s distracted by the clown getting closer to their table. She passes by without stopping.

“And for you, sweetheart?”

He turns back to Shyanne. It feels wrong being called sweetheart in such a motherly tone by someone who looks about his age.

He orders a simple stack of buttermilk pancakes, with sides of hashbrowns and sausage, and a glass of water. It isn’t until Shyanne leaves the table that he remembers he left his wallet back at the house.

“I don’t have any money.”

Phil is examining the plastic containers of syrup lined up against the wall. “This was my idea. I’m paying.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Dan tries to read Phil’s face for any indication of annoyance, but it’s difficult when Phil’s not looking at him.

Phil picks up one of the syrups. “Boysenberry,” he says, holding it out to Dan so he can read the name on the lid.

“Uh huh?” 

“The first time I ate at an IHOP I was eleven? I think? And Martyn told me to try a little of this on one of my pancakes. So I did, and then he waited till Mum went to the restroom—Dad wasn’t there for some reason—and he told me that boysenberry was actually just American slang for  _ poisonberry _ and that if you ate too much it killed you. I almost cried.”

Dan snorts, pretending his heart isn’t melting imagining a tiny Phil freaking out over syrup. “Why would they serve poison at a restaurant?”

“You were only supposed to eat a drop of it. Like when people eat those really spicy peppers that can burn a hole through your stomach if you eat more than one.”

“I don’t know if that’s a real thing.”

Phil puts the boysenberry back. “It didn’t even taste good.”

Shyanne returns to the table with their drinks. She places a glass of water in front of Dan and a glass of milk in front of Phil, as well as an empty mug. She fills the mug with coffee from a copper-colored tureen that she leaves on the table.

“Thank you,” they say in perfect unison.

Shyanne laughs. “Are you guys brothers?”

“No!” Phil sounds troubled by the assumption. His cheeks color. 

Dan raises an eyebrow at him.

Shyanne just laughs again. “Your food’ll be out in a bit.”

Dan waits until she’s out of earshot before speaking. “Why does speaking at the same time make us related? Does she think it’s like a twin telepathy thing?”

“Maybe,” says Phil. He takes a big swig of his milk. “I’m lactose intolerant.”

Dan widens his eyes. He isn’t allergic or intolerant to any food, as far as he knows, and the concept of it always freaks him out. He can’t distance himself from the memory of a kid in primary school who had to be taken out on a stretcher after he had a reaction to microscopic particles of peanut butter. At least that’s how Dan remembers it.

“It’s like the boysenberry,” says Phil, before taking another gulp. “I live life on the edge.”

Dan proceeds to watch as Phil adds a concerning about of creamer and sugar to his coffee, turning it from a rich, deep brown to a pale beige.

“What’s your last name?” Phil asks, after taking a sip.

Dan’s not sure what prompted the turn in conversation. He’s struggling to follow the logic of most of Phil’s subject changes. For a second he considers lying, but what does it matter?

“Howell.”

Phil nods. “Mmm. I like that. Like a wolf.” He flares his nostrils and growls.

Dan just stares. Phil is so bizarre. It seems to come naturally.

Phil takes another sip of coffee. “Mine’s Lester.”

“Like red Leicester.” Dan doesn’t attempt a cheese impression.

Phil wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue. “No. Gross.”

Before Dan can ask what’s so gross about it, Shyanne arrives with their food. The pile of whipped cream atop Phil’s pancakes is impressive in both height and its perfectly sculpted shape. Rainbow sprinkles adorn its white curves. Dan’s pancakes are much humbler in appearance, though the stack is quite high. Along with the hashbrowns and sausage, it’s a lot of food, but Dan’s confident he can eat it all without much trouble.

Phil proceeds to pour maple syrup all over the whipped cream mountain, caving it in. It emits a strong, sickly sweet smell. Dan is horrified.

“Please stop. I can’t bear to watch this anymore.”

Phil puts down the syrup and grabs his fork. “Cheers,” he says, digging in unceremoniously and scooping out a chunk of pancake.

Dan has to admit, the pancakes are tasty. They’re light, fluffy and filling. He pours a bit of each of the syrups—maple, blueberry, strawberry, and of course, boysenberry—unto his plate, and cuts his pancakes into small pieces to dip into each one. All of the syrups are a bit too sweet, but he likes the blueberry the best. His hashbrowns are perfectly greasy and taste great accompanied by the ketchup and tabasco sauce offered on the table. The sausages are tough-skinned and shriveled, but the taste isn’t offensive.

Shyanne stops by to check on them a few times, refilling Dan’s water and asking if the coffee is still hot enough. In between stuffing their faces, Dan and Phil get to know each other a little better.

Dan learns that Phil grew up near Manchester, which explains the accent, but now lives in London, while his parents live on the Isle of Man. Dan enthusiastically tells him that he lives in London too, as if it’s the most exciting thing, and that he used to live in Manchester. He doesn’t say that he only lived there for a year before he dropped out of university.

Phil is twenty-five, which surprises Dan, who expected him to be closer to his own age of twenty-one. Dan has always been terrible at guessing people’s ages. For all he knows Shyanne might be thirty-six and just have a really good skincare routine. The child crawling around on the floor underneath the table across the way might be ten rather than three.

They scrape their plates clean and Phil gets out his wallet. The clown lady is starting to circle back around toward their table. The squeaking of latex being twisted together forcefully signals her imminent arrival.

“Let’s get the check before we get clowned.”

Phil looks over his shoulder. “Oh, god. Yeah.”

Phil leaves a big tip for Shyanne, carefully counting out the American bills. Dan feels dizzy when he stands up, but it passes and he follows Phil out of the restaurant.

The sun is burning bright without mercy, and the air is heavy and humid. Dan starts sweating instantly.

“I forgot to put on suncream,” says Phil, shading his eyes. “And my sunglasses. Let’s get home before I burst into flames.”

Phil is quite pale. His arms are dusted with hundreds of freckles, and the tip of his nose is pink.

“Did you schedule another uber?”

“Oh, no. I forgot.”

Dan groans.

“Hold on, I’ll text my mum. I’ll see if they’re nearby and can pick us up.”

They go back inside IHOP to sit in the outer lobby on a padded bench running around the perimeter. Phil sends a text and they wait.

About ten minutes later, he gets a reply. It turns out Phil’s parents are on their way back to the house, but they can take a detour to pick up Dan and Phil at IHOP.

They sit quietly, Phil focused on his phone, Dan left with only his thoughts. This time yesterday, he was on a plane, flying away from his problems. Now he’s sitting comfortably (at least emotionally, if not physically) next to a guy he’s just met, in the lobby of a restaurant he’s never been to before. Belly full of pancakes, skinny jeans fused to his thighs by sweat.

What would he be doing if he was still in London? It’s night there. He’d probably be locked away in his windowless little room, eating instant noodles for dinner and doing anything he could to distract himself from the reality that he is now unemployed. Of course, that reality exists here too. It’s true no matter where he goes. He can barely afford his rent as is. He didn’t tell his flatmates he was leaving. They’ll probably have evicted him by the time he gets back, and then he’ll be unemployed and homeless.

If he goes back. He has to eventually, doesn’t he?

Phil taps him on the arm. “They’re here.”

The rental car is waiting in the front row of parking spots. Kathryn rolls down the passenger side window and waves as they approach. 

“Hello, boys! Hop in before you melt.”

They slide into the backseat. The cool air is lovely, though it’s not turned up as high as Dan would like it to be. Nigel turns around in the driver’s seat to look at them.

“Good lunch?”

“Yeah,” says Phil. “I might never eat again.”

Kathryn laughs. “I’m positive you won’t be saying that in four hours.”

As they drive back to the house, Kathryn tells them about the wine tasting she and Nigel went to, and the shopping they did afterwards. Dan gazes out the window, letting the conversation flow around him. It’s mostly Kathryn and Phil talking, with occasional commentary from Nigel.

Clouds are beginning to gather and darken in the sky. He hopes it’ll rain. He looks at the palm trees swaying as the wind picks up. They’re so much taller than he thought they’d be.

The sky opens up all at once. It doesn’t bother with building slowly to a downpour. The palms tree bend in the wind, their leaves fluttering like streamers.

“Look at that,” Phil murmurs to himself.

Dan turns to look at him. He’s facing fully toward the window, and all Dan can see is the back of his head. One hand is pressed to the glass, fingers splayed. Dan gets an urge to reach forward and tap him on the shoulder, to see if he would jump, but he keeps his hands to himself.

By the time they pull into the driveway a few minutes later, the rain has stopped. Just as quickly as the clouds gathered, they disperse, revealing the sun once again. When Dan steps out of the car, it’s still hot, but the world feels refreshed.

Inside the house, Dan excuses himself to run upstairs and retrieve his now fully charged phone. He has no texts or missed calls. He’s not sure if that’s depressing or a relief.

Kathryn’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She hands him a plastic bag.

“I thought you might need a few things, having come so spontaneously with just that little bag over your shoulder.”

Dan peers inside and blushes when he sees that she’s bought him a package of pants and another of socks.

“You really didn’t have to—”

She pats him on the arm. “It’s no trouble.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, still mortified, but also touched. Everyone needs to stop being so thoughtful of him before he has a breakdown over it.

Kathryn leaves to join Phil and Nigel, whose voices are drifting in from the lounge, and Dan goes back upstairs to deposit his gifts in his room.

He sits on the floor with his door ajar. There’s a soft knock and he looks up to see Phil peeking in. He holds up the package of pants.

“Your mum bought me lingerie.”

Phil rolls his eyes and steps into the room. He sits down on the floor in front of Dan and picks up the package of white socks.

“Also the most boring socks in the world. Sexy.”

“Yeah, I would’ve preferred black. But I don’t turn my nose up at gifts.”

He looks at the socks on Phil’s feet, one of which is yellow with a seagull on it, the other blue with corgis.

“I wonder how she knew I needed these.”

He looks back up at Phil’s face and notices he’s blushing.

“I might have texted her while we were out and mentioned that I, uh, didn’t think you had many…clothes. I guess this is how she interpreted that.”

“Is that how you intended it?” he asks, smirking as Phil looks away and squirms.

“I’m going to my room for a bit,” he says. “I feel a bit sick.”

He stands up, and Dan notices his legs are shaky.

“From the pancakes?” Dan asks. He wonders if he said something wrong.

“Maybe. And the car ride.”

“Okay…”

Dan watches him go, then closes the door behind him. He lies down on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He unlocks his phone so he can lose himself on the internet for a while. Unfortunately he’s all but out of data. The house has wi-fi, but it’s password protected. He gets out of bed, and goes down the hall to Phil’s room, knocking lightly.

He hears a grunt from inside and opens the door slowly. Phil is lying on his bed, eyes closed.

“Sorry. I just wanted to know if you know the code for the wi-fi?”

Phil laughs and feels around for his phone next to his pillow without opening his eyes.

“Tell me your number and I’ll text it to you. It’s kind of long so I have it saved in my notes app.”

Dan tells him and Phil opens his eyes, holding his phone above his face as he types.

“I think if I sit up I’m gonna be sick,” he explains.

He sighs and lowers the phone back to his chest, eyes closed again. Dan’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he opens Phil’s message to read the long string of numbers and letters.

“Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

“No problem,” says Phil. “Close the door, please.”

Dan closes the door as delicately as possible. Back in his room, he flops down on the bed. He saves Phil to his contacts, putting a little pancake emoji after his name.

He haunts twitter for a while, scrolling through his feed until he realizes he hasn’t even read the last ten tweets he passed. He switches to youtube, catching up on all the videos in his subscription box. His surroundings fall away as the room grows darker around him. He could be anywhere in the universe. He’s just a disembodied pair of eyes tethered to images on a screen. He closes his eyes and sensations return. The pillow is lumpy under his cheek. The arm his phone is propped up against feels stiff. He curls and uncurls his toes. He rolls over onto his stomach, phone pushed away, and falls asleep.

Sometime later, a light knock on his door stirs Dan from his slumber.

“Lo?” he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Would you like some dinner, dear? Nigel is just finishing up the cooking.”

Dan isn’t hungry, but he could eat. More than that, he needs something to drink. His mouth is pretty dry. The saliva in it is tacky and gross, tasting vaguely of pancakes still.

“Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Dinner consists of chicken, rice, and mixed vegetables. It’s simple but good. Dan endures a few awkward minutes at the start of the meal when it seems like Phil won’t be joining them, but after they’ve all filled their plates and taken their first bites, he shuffles into the kitchen.

He’s wearing glasses and the Hello Kitty pajama bottoms again, and his fringe is pushed back off his forehead. He puts a tiny portion of food on his plate and sits down in the chair next to Dan.

“Feeling alright?” Kathryn asks.

Phil shrugs. “Just a headache. And I haven’t fully recovered from the pancakes.” He cuts a piece of chicken and eats it. “It’s really good, Dad.”

The dinner conversation is casual, but Dan is still on edge the entire time, just waiting to be asked to talk about himself. There’s only so many times they can go over the same things they all did that day.

Dan tries to divert attention away from himself by asking questions about the holiday so far. The Lesters have already been in Florida for a week, and they’ll be heading home on Tuesday. Dan listens attentively to stories about crazy golf (which Phil claims to be excellent at), a day at Disney, and Gatorland.

“I also encountered a tortoise,” Phil says, providing no further explanation before the conversation shifts.

Dan manages to escape mostly unscathed. The only personal information he reveals is that he’s from Wokingham but lives in London, and that he’s never been to Florida or any part of America before.

After dinner, he volunteers to do the dishes. He’s desperate to start balancing out the good deeds the Lesters have done for him. They go out to sit in the lounge and he can hear muffled voices coming from the TV. He joins them when he’s finished, hands red and pruny from the hot water.

They’re watching some crime show. The episode is halfway over so Dan doesn’t really understand what’s going on, except that a ballerina got murdered and either a fellow member of her company did it, or her landlord. Or her twin brother no one knew existed—who might be the same person as her landlord; he’s not sure.

In the end it was none of those people, but instead some guy with a beard who the detectives must have met and talked to at the beginning of the show before he started watching. Phil and Kathryn seem quite shocked and slightly annoyed by this turn of events. Nigel doesn’t offer an opinion. Dan glances over at him and thinks he may have fallen asleep.

They end the evening by going back into the kitchen to play Scrabble. Dan’s brain is a little fried, but he still manages to hold his own. Phil and Nigel do miserably, having the worst luck when it comes to selecting tiles. Kathryn is victorious.

When Dan catches himself joining in on the laughter or teasing, he has to take a mental step back. He just met these people yesterday. What if he’s being rude? He looks around the table at the smiling faces and doesn’t think he is.

He can’t stop his eyes from coming back to Phil again and again. He decides by the end of the third game that Phil is some flavor of queer. He’s not sure what it is about him; it’s just a vibe he’s picking up. (And the gay lions.) He doesn’t know if it’s some kind of instinctual gay sixth sense or maybe a tool for survival in a homophobic world. Of course, he could be wrong. He’s not psychic; it’s all just subconscious inferences coalescing in his brain. Even if he is right, he’s certainly not going to say anything. Especially around Kathryn and Nigel. He barely knows Phil, and he could be closeted. Dan’s not out to his parents, and he’s not going to make the reckless assumption that Phil is to his.

His suspicions might also be influenced by wishful thinking. The idea of hooking up with a hot guy in Florida is appealing to him. He’s not above seeking physical pleasure to distract from psychological struggle. But sitting at this table with this cozy little family tempers the urge.

Eventually they clear the table, putting the board and tiles back in the box. Phil’s parents head up to bed, leaving Dan alone with him downstairs.

“Are you tired?” Phil asks.

“Not really. My brain still doesn’t understand what’s going on with the time difference, and I had a nap before dinner.”

“Me too.”

So they sit on the sofa and watch some TV together, the volume turned down so low Dan can barely hear it. Phil puts on the subtitles, but Dan’s eyes are too tired to focus on reading.

When the movie they’re watching starts to get boring, Dan turns to Phil to ask him if he can change the channel. But Phil is asleep. His head is tipped slightly to the side and his hands are clasped delicately over a pillow on his lap. There almost seems to be a small smile on his face, like he’s having a good dream. Dan hopes he is.

He should probably wake Phil up so he can go sleep in his bed.

“Phil,” he whispers.

Phil doesn’t stir.

“Phil,” he says a bit louder.

No response.

Dan reaches out and warily taps Phil’s arm. He doesn’t want a repeat of the screaming from earlier.

“Phil, wake up.”

Phil’s eyes finally start to flutter open. He looks confused, but then his eyes focus on Dan’s face and he smiles.

“Oh. Hi. Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to go up to bed now. I thought I’d wake you so you could come too.”

Phil giggles. “Ooh, inviting me up to bed?” His voice is slurred and sleepy. Dan’s glad his eyes are closed again so he can’t see the embarrassed look on his face.

“I think all that sugar rotted your brain,” he says, standing up.

Phil nods. “I’m pancake drunk.” He looks like he might fall asleep again, and Dan’s prepared to leave him there, but then he sits up and heaves himself off the sofa in one motion, swaying a bit and grabbing onto Dan’s arm for balance.

“Let’s walk up together so the demon doesn’t get us.” He lets go of Dan’s arm and heads toward the stairs.

“Demon?” Dan turns off the light in the lounge, hurrying after Phil.

“There’s this doll…” He yawns. “I’ll explain later.”

They part ways at the top of the stairs, Phil heading to his bedroom, Dan to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

When he steps out of the bathroom he nearly has a heart attack. Phil is lying down in the middle of the hallway. How Dan manages not to yell is a mystery.

Phil sits up. “I didn’t want to fall asleep without brushing my teeth, so I thought I’d just wait here,” he explains.

“Right. That’s totally normal.”

He steps out of the way so Phil can go into the bathroom.

“Goodnight,” he says to the closed door.

“Goodnight!”

**FRIDAY**

Dan wakes up earlier on Friday, around 9am. It’s too hot to keep sleeping, even with the air-conditioning on. He opted to just sleep in his pants last night,and he has to unstick himself from the sheets before he rolls out of bed.

He puts on the pajamas so he has something to wear out of his room. He hasn’t quite reached a level of comfort that allows for him to waltz around the house in his underwear.

After leaving the bathroom, he sneaks down the hall towards Phil’s room. He’s not sure why, but he stops outside the closed door and just listens for a bit. He doesn’t do anything creepy like press his ear against it. He glances down the rest of the hall at the door farther down that must be Kathryn and Nigel’s. It appears to be slightly ajar, but he doesn’t walk down that way to investigate further.

There are no noises coming from Phil’s room. Dan’s not sure what he expected. Either Phil’s not in there or he is. And if he is, there’s a good chance he’s still asleep. He’d mentioned the other day at IHOP that he isn’t an early riser.

Dan creeps down the stairs. He peeks into the kitchen. It’s empty. He tiptoes toward the lounge and finds it unoccupied as well. Has everyone just left and abandoned him here alone?

He might as well eat. Still moving with light steps, he makes his way back to the kitchen and peruses his options. He settles on a banana and some cereal. There are several kinds to choose from, but he goes with Crunchy Nut. He didn’t know they sold it in America, and it reminds him of home. The milk in the fridge is lactose free, which confuses him for a second before he remembers Phil is lactose intolerant.

He gets through breakfast without any interruptions. The quiet was unnerving at first, but now it’s peaceful. He can’t remember the last time he was this removed from noise. He spends most of his time at the airport, constantly in a chaotic soundscape. His neighborhood in London isn’t much better. If anything, it’s worse, simply because home is supposed to be the place he goes to relax and sleep. There’s always neighbors being loud around the clock, and the sirens of police cars and ambulances are frequently heard. Not a day goes by it seems, where someone, near or far, isn’t working on some sort of construction project.

When he’s finished eating, Dan washes his bowl and spoon and sets them in the drying rack beside the sink. He’s not sure what to do next, but then he finds himself overtaken by an urge to just go outside and do a little exploring. He leaves the kitchen and heads through the lounge to the front door, not going upstairs to grab anything or even put on shoes.

The pavement is too hot for his bare feet, but the grass is fine. He makes his way around to the back of the house, curious to see the garden, and is surprised by a pool. Its surface is crystal clear and blue, with some leaves floating on top. A border of tiles surrounds it. Even more surprising, Dan sees that there’s a sliding glass door in the back of the house. He looks in through the glass and sees a sort of mudroom, with coats and shoes, and various pool accessories like inner tubes and a lilo.

He walks around the pool, taking note of some dead flies alongside the leaves. A pool skimmer is lying on the tiles, begging to be used.

The grass slopes down on the other side of the pool, with stone steps leading to another flat area, where a line of trees encloses the space. There’s a small pond with three lawn chairs facing it. Dan can see the back of someone’s head peeking out over the top of one. Beside the pond, a man stands at an easel painting, his supplies on a wooden stand.

The man is Nigel, and Dan’s sure Kathryn is sitting in the chair. He almost turns around and goes back into the house, leaving them be. But he’s bored and a little lonely—which is kind of pathetic, though maybe it’s just the unfamiliar surroundings—so he makes his way down to them. Also, they might know where Phil is.

Kathryn must hear him coming, because she turns to look over her shoulder and waves at him.

“Good morning, Dan!”

“G’morning.” He feels strangely shy, now that he’s joined them.

Nigel turns for a second and gives a little “Hullo” before returning to his painting. Dan’s taken aback by how beautiful it is. Vivid, lively brushstrokes come together to form a pink and white bird with a long, funny beak. He’s not sure what it is.

“Roseate spoonbill,” Kathryn says, as if she can read his mind. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Yeah,” he says, not knowing if she’s talking about the bird itself or Nigel’s painting.

Kathryn has a book on her lap, so she must have been reading before he interrupted. There’s something about the whole scene—Nigel quietly painting while Kathryn reads close by—that makes Dan’s heart twinge.

“I suppose my lazy son is still in bed,” says Kathryn. Her tone is more fond than reproachful.

“Uh, I guess? I haven’t seen him.”

“Maybe he’s out for a jog,” says Nigel.

Kathryn laughs and picks up her book again. “Well, feel free to sit if you’d like.”

“Thanks…I think I’m going to get dressed, actually,” he replies, remembering what he’s wearing.

Kathryn hums a little acknowledgment and Dan leaves.

He finds Phil in the kitchen, sitting at the table and clinging to a mug of coffee. His eyes are beady behind his glasses, and bits of his hair are sticking up in all directions. He looks like a windblown hedgehog.

“Nice hair,” says Dan, pulling out a chair to sit across from him.

“Nice outfit,” Phil grumbles.

“These are  _ your  _ clothes”

Phil just grunts and take a sip of his coffee. He sighs contently and puts the mug down on the table.

“Been getting up to trouble?” he asks, reaching up to smooth down some of his hair.

“Not really. Went down and saw your parents out by the pond. I can’t believe this place has a pool  _ and  _ a pond. Talk about posh.”

Phil ignores the dig and takes a long sip of coffee.

“Any trouble you’d like to get up to?” he asks.

Dan wants to say something cheeky, but he doesn’t want to push the banter too far too soon.

“Dunno. I’m kind of just taking things one minute at a time.”

Phil nods and taps his fingers of the side of his mug.

“I like the sound of that. I’m going to finish this coffee, then I’m going to go sit out there,” he points over Dan’s shoulder, “and play games on my phone. And we’ll see how far that takes me.”

“Okay.”

Phil is true to his word, and soon enough both of them are lounging around on their phones. Phil lies across the sofa, while Dan curls up in one of the armchairs.

Dan glances over at Phil regularly. Despite his disheveled appearance, Dan can’t deny he looks good. Phil furrows his brow and bites his lip as he taps fervently on his phone screen, letting out soft noises of frustration and delight in equal measure.

Dan cycles between games, twitter, and tumblr. Nothing holds his attention for long. his surroundings are still too novel, and every time he starts to hone in on something, Phil will make a noise that breaks the spell. He’s still reasonably content though. Anxiety is gnawing away in the back of his brain, trying to remind him that he should be doing something to get his shit together. But there’s only so much he can do while marooned in Florida. And the Lesters aren’t guilting him about any of it because they have no idea what’s happened.

Kathryn and Nigel eventually make their way back inside.

“Lazy, lazy boys,” says Kathryn, when she sees them lounging around in their pajamas. She ruffles Phil’s hair. “Your father and I are going to freshen up and then go out for lunch. Pop into a few shops. You and Dan are welcome to join us.”

Phil makes eye contact with Dan and raises one eyebrow. Dan shakes his head ever so slightly; he’s not even sure it will register with Phil.

But Phil must understand, because he nods and says to Kathryn, “Thanks Mum, but we’re going to stay in.”

About fifteen minutes later, Phil’s parents are pulling out of the driveway. 

“Are you hungry?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Phil hops up and goes to the kitchen. Twenty-five minutes later, they’re sitting on the floor, backs against the sofa, with plates piled high with slices of fancy frozen pizza.

“So,” says Phil, after taking a sip from his glass of coke, “do you really not know anyone here in Florida?”

“No one.”

He could leave it at that. He doesn’t think Phil is the type to prod him for more information. But maybe he wants to give Phil more information. He wants to learn more about Phil, so he needs to let him learn a little about him in exchange.

“I got fired from my job and I…just got on a plane and here I am.”

Phil is staring at him. Dan lowers his head and focuses on his pizza.

“Wow. I’d never have the guts to do something like that.”

Dan raises his head to look at Phil again. That’s not the response he was expecting.

“It wasn’t guts. Just stupidity.”

Phil shrugs. “I still wouldn’t be brave enough to do it. I’m not a very spontaneous person. At least not when it comes to things like that. Big things.”

Dan puts down the slice of pizza he was about to take a bite out of.

“I just…it’s like…” He can feel a rush of words threatening to come out. It might just be that he hasn’t talked earnestly about how he feels with anyone in a long time. Or that Phil is so attentive. Even now, with his eyes cast down, Dan can still see Phil in his periphery, watching his face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, and I need to figure it out before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Dan doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t say anything. He sneaks a glance at Phil, and watches as he lets his head fall back against the seat of the sofa.

“Do you know? What you’re doing?” Dan wants some kind of reassurance, that maybe, in a few years, things will be different. He’ll have found a purpose. A reason for his existence.

“No,” says Phil, and Dan’s heart sinks. “But it doesn’t matter right now. This is Florida.”

That throws him. “What?”

Phil leans forward, away from the sofa, and angles his body more towards Dan.

“When you’re in Florida, none of that stuff matters. Jobs, life paths, the future. That all exists outside of Florida, but never within it.” He moves his hands in a wide circle in front of himself when he says  _ outside _ and then draws them into a tight circle for  _ Florida _ . “You need to just enjoy the serene lack of meaning here.”

The struggle to comprehend what Phil’s saying pushes Dan’s worries to the side.

“Alright…Sure. What about people who live in Florida, then?”

Phil waves his hand dismissively.

“That’s different. Floridians have to find their Florida somewhere else. I guess Florida isn’t everybody’s Florida. But it’s mine.” He places a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “And it can be yours too, Dan, if you just  _ believe _ .”

He’s biting back a grin.

Dan shrugs him off. “This conversation is hurting my brain,” he says, trying to subdue his amusement.

Phil’s tone is serious when he speaks next.

“All I’m saying is, you can take a break. Let yourself forget about it for now. I promise it won’t be too late to figure things out when you get back.”

The sudden swerve from teasing to deep sincerity gives Dan whiplash. His eyes start to itch with potential tears and he squeezes them shut for a few seconds. Someday he should examine why the most generic kindness elicits such a reaction.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Besides, your decision to come here might have been rash, but it’s worked out so far, hasn’t it? You’re eating the best frozen pizza money can buy,” Phil places his hand to his chest, “with  _ me _ . What more could you want?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Phil’s face lights up. “I know what we should do!”

“…What?” Dan asks, warily.

“Consult the magic 8-ball.”

Dan can’t tell if Phil’s being serious or not, but he watches as he leaps up and hurries from the room. He can hear Phil’s heavy feet stomping up the stairs. When he returns, he is indeed holding a magic 8-ball in his hands.

Dan snorts. “You don’t seriously think those work?”

“Listen, Dan,” he says, sitting back down. “My grandmother was a psychic woman. I think I’ve inherited the gift.”

“And she used one of those, did she?”

“No, I think she mostly did tarot cards, but I don’t have those. This was under my bed.”

“Great.”

Phil shifts closer to Dan. “Watch and learn. Oh, great magic 8-ball, lend me your wisdom…will I live to be at least one hundred?”

He turns the ball upside down and then right-side up again.

“ _ Outlook good! _ ” he reads, tilting it so Dan can see the words on the little triangle.

Dan is unimpressed. “It’s just a piece of plastic floating around in some blue liquid. The answers are totally random.”

Phil frowns. He turns the ball over again and considers it for a second.

“Is Dan an idiot?” He flips the ball up and starts laughing when he sees the answer.

He turns it so Dan can see. “ _ It is decidedly so _ . The ball has spoken!”

“Give me that!” Dan grabs the ball from Phil, who just laughs harder. “Is Phil a giant twat?” He flips the ball down and back up.

_ My sources say no _ .

Phil leans back, covering his mouth with his hands. His eyes are all scrunched up and his shoulders shake.

Dan wants to be annoyed, but he can’t help grinning.

“Well, my sources disagree.” He starts lightly hitting Phil on the shoulder with the ball.

Phil gasps and scoots back. “Ball abuse!”

Dan stops, cringing. “Never say that again.”

“Babuse!”

Dan drops the 8-ball into Phil’s lap and stands up.

“Bathroom,” he says. 

“Be safe!”

Dan shakes his head as he goes up the stairs, as if Phil’s still watching. Maybe he’s shaking his head at himself.

As he washes his hands, he has a conversation with himself in the mirror.

“What am I doing? Does it matter? I’m having fun. This is fun. It’s fine.”

He dries his hands and heads back down to Phil.

The rest of the day progresses in the same slow, unbothered way in which it began. After they finish the pizza, Dan and Phil move off the floor and onto the sofa, flicking through channels on the television. Phil finds one playing  _ E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial _ and asks if Dan wants to watch; he’s astonished when Dan admits he’s never seen it.

Dan becomes immersed in the movie. Rains starts to fall outside and the sun hides, making the room grow dim. Every now and then he glances over at Phil. The sofa isn’t small, but they’ve both got their legs up on the cushions. Phil is curled up with his head resting on the armrest. He’s pulled a blanket down from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around himself. Dan has one foot tucked underneath him, the other leg slightly extended. If he stretched just a little more, they’d be touching. Sometime after the movie ends, Kathryn texts Phil to let him know that she and Nigel won’t be home for dinner.

Dan is relaxed, listening to the patter of the rain and the hum of the air conditioning. Another movie is playing, but he’s barely paying attention. It’s some sort of romcom. The protagonists don’t seem to like each other very much. He looks over at Phil and sees that he’s fallen asleep. Tentatively, he pokes him in the leg with his foot.

“Hmm?” Phil lifts his head. His eyes are still closed and his glasses askew.

“Why’re you such a sleepyhead?”

Phil sighs and lays his head back down. “Cozy. And the new pills for my headaches make me drowsy.”

“Do you have a headache right now?” Dan asks, afraid that he might be making it worse by waking Phil up and bothering him.

“No.” He sits up again and adjusts his glasses. “What’re we watching?”

“I don’t even know. I think the man and the woman hate each other but they’re definitely gonna fuck.”

Phil snorts. “Let’s watch something scary to help me stay awake.”

Dan finds them a made for television movie about possessed dolls. It’s quite derivative, and the special effects are laughable, but it still manages to keep Dan on edge with well-timed jump scares.

He lets out a little squeak when one of the dolls flies out from under a bed and latches onto the ankle of the unsuspecting babysitter. Phil looks at him and then lifts up the edge of his blanket.

“Come under the blanket of safety,” he says.

Dan moves closer and let’s Phil cover him. It’s not a small blanket, but he and Phil are large people, and they have to sit close to fit under it. Dan wishes he knew if Phil was trying to innocently comfort him, or push things in a different direction. He’s content with just being comforted, but he’s not opposed to anything else.

The movie takes a strange and sudden turn toward gore. There’s an awful lot of red liquid being spurted out and splattered around. It all looks fake, but when the hoard of dolls start disemboweling a nun, Phil holds his hands up in front of his face.

“This is terrible.”

“Do you want me to turn it off?”

Phil shakes his head, eyes still covered. “No. I need to see how it ends or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.” He lowers his hands to look at Dan. “Unless you want to.”

“No, I need to see them destroy these little shits.”

At the climax of the movie, when the babysitter is about to exorcise all the demons, the lights suddenly come on and two figures appear in the doorway. Dan and Phil both scream, and Dan grabs Phil’s hand under the blanket.

It’s Kathryn and Nigel.

“Having fun?” says Nigel.

“Jesus, I think I almost died,” says Phil. “Welcome home.”

They don’t let go of each other’s hands. Kathryn makes it clear that she disapproves of their film choice, and then she and Nigel head upstairs. Phil asks them to turn the lights back off on their way out.

“What time is it?” Dan asks. He figures it could be anywhere from 6pm to 12am.

“Give me my hand back and I’ll get my phone out from between the cushions,” says Phl, not looking at him.

Dan blushes and lets go. “I’ve got my own phone, mate,” he says, extricating himself from the blanket and looking around for it.

Phil retrieves his first. “9:43.” He puts it back down. “Okay, you can hold my hand again. If you’re scared.” 

Phil’s teasing, but Dan notices he’s still avoiding looking him directly in the face.

He rolls his eyes, but reaches out and takes the hand Phil offers. On screen, the babysitter is being hugged by three small children. They’re all drenched in blood but seem to be okay. Remnants of shattered porcelain and melted plastic surround them.

There’s an electric tension in the air. A live wire runs from Phil’s arm, through Dan’s hand, and all the way up into his chest. He might be the only one feeling it. Phil’s eyes are focused on the screen.

The surviving nuns are bestowing the babysitter with some kind of magical talisman. He’s starting to think they might not be proper nuns after all, but secretly evil, due to some suspicious looks exchanged behind the babysitter’s back. They’re going to end the movie with loose threads to tie a sequel to. So much for closure and sleeping soundly. The credits begin, accompanied by eerie music.

Phil slowly slides his hand out of Dan’s. Even with the loss of direct contact, Dan feels an emotional charge. He needs to diffuse it before he does anything stupid.

“You know,” he says, “your hand is really soft.”

He meant to make it sound like a joke, but he realizes as soon as the words leave his mouth that telling a guy his hand is soft after holding it for an extended time is probably the gayest thing he could’ve done, short of turning to Phil and leaning in for a kiss.

Phil seems unfazed. “Thank you. I moisturize.”

Dan’s tension eases. Phil gets up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

They end up in the kitchen eating cereal, both being too lazy to make anything. Phil is apparently too lazy to even get a bowl or pour milk, instead opting to eat handfuls of cereal straight out of the box.

After they finish eating they come to an unspoken agreement that they’re both worn out and ready for some alone time. They head upstairs and Phil disappears into his bedroom. Dan goes to the bathroom to take a shower.

When his body and teeth are clean, he steps out into the hallway with a towel around his waist and his clothes in his hands. He makes his way down the hall but stops, confused, when he sees that the door to his room is open. He’s positive he closed it when he last left.

He tiptoes slowly toward his room and eases the door open. He flips the light switch and his heart stutters. He gasps. There’s a doll sitting upright on his bed. He drops the clothes.

“Hello, Danny,” says a strange voice by his ear.

Dan screams and spins around to find Phil standing behind him.

“ _ Shhhh!  _ My parents are asleep!”

“Fuck you,” says Dan, pushing him in the chest. “You fucking dick.”

“Everything alright?” a voice calls from down the hall.

“Yes!” Phil calls back. “Sorry!”

“What the hell is that thing?” Dan asks, pointing behind him at the doll.

“It’s the demon doll. It was under my bed with the 8-ball and some other crap.”

“So you put it in my fucking room?” He spits the words angrily.

Phil’s gleeful expression slips. He looks worried.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to do.”

Dan softens. He’s more embarrassed than mad. “That’s alright…but I am gonna get you back. You’d better watch out.”

Phil smiles weakly, still looking unsure.

“I’m not touching it though. You put it in here and you have to take it out.”

Dan steps to the side, motioning with an outstretched arm for Phil to enter. He reluctantly does, and makes his way to the bed. He picks up the doll, holding it at arm’s length.

“I guess I’ll put this back downstairs where I banished it before.”

“Put it wherever you want. Just get it out of here.”

Phil steps away from the bed and walks back to the door. As he passes Dan, he looks him up and down. Dan can see him blushing faintly.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, slipping out of the room.

“You too,” says Dan, watching him go.

He struggles to sleep that night, tossing and turning as nightmares about murderous dolls bleed into pleasant dreams about Phil. After hours of fitful sleep, he wakes up and checks his phone. It’s 3am. And he has a text.

_ Soz about the doll. That was dumb. Sleep well! _

He smiles, locks his phone, and puts it back on the bedside table. He closes his eyes and before long he’s fallen back asleep.

**SATURDAY**

On Saturday morning Dan finds himself on a mini golf course with the Lesters. Kathryn had managed to get everyone (specifically Phil) out of bed before 10. Now Dan is standing on the course wearing a pair of Phil’s shorts and one of his t-shirts, along with a pair of one dollar sunglasses from the drugstore they stopped at for snacks on the way here.

It’s not as hot today, or at least not as humid. The sun is bright but there’s no sogginess in the air to cling to his clothes and fill his lungs. There is however, the strong smell of the suncream Phil’s slathered on being wafted toward Dan by a light breeze. They’re all wearing some, but Phil seems to be wearing the most. Dan’s also standing closest to him. He can see a little glob of white on the back of his head, right where his hair meets his neck, and he reaches forward to wipe it off.

Phil startles a bit and slaps a hand on the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. Kathryn is up to putt and Nigel is preoccupied with watching her.

“Fixing your mistakes.”

Phil narrows his eyes and turns back around.

Dan is having a great time. He’s surprised by this. Family holidays are synonymous with boredom and tension in his mind. But this is fun. There’s friendly competition (Dan is winning, not that it matters) and lighthearted ribbing. Nigel is especially terrible, but what he lacks in putting skills, he makes up for with his golf commentator voice. His delivery is deadpan and his imitation is so perfectly subdued. Dan fights the urge to laugh every time he opens his mouth. He thinks it might be a distraction technique.

Phil has his own commentary, but it’s less refined. Every time he says anything suggestive about holes, Dan’s eyes dart over to Kathryn and Nigel, but they don’t appear to be picking up on any innuendo. Maybe there’s nothing to pick up on and Dan just has a filthy mind. But when he meets eyes with Phil to give him an incredulous look, Phil sticks out his tongue and makes a face that tells Dan he’s not imagining anything.

Much to his chagrin, both Kathryn and Phil manage to pull ahead of Dan before the game is over, taking second and first place respectively. Phil looks so pleased with himself; Dan can’t decide if it’s irritating or endearing. Probably a little of both. He still manages to best Nigel, so he retains some of his pride.

Sitting in the backseat next to Phil on the drive home, Dan feels transported to a different state of mind and stage of life. He’s not twenty-one and adrift in a foreign country with no family. He’s some kid on holiday with his parents and…well, not his brother. A friend. A friend and the friend’s parents, more accurately. He’s not in charge of anything. He’s just along for the ride, and older people have to worry about all the intricacies of planning and traveling from point A to B. He leans back and closes his eyes, letting everything fade away around him.

They stop for lunch at a tiny family restaurant. Dan feels out of place when they walk in, as they appear to be the only group there without children. The illusion he enjoyed in the car falls apart once he’s standing inside, towering over all the seated guests and most of the standing ones too.

He slides into the booth first, and Phil follows, squeezing in and knocking their knees together hard. Dan winces and elbows him in the ribs. Phil doesn’t retaliate, as Kathryn and Nigel have just taken their seats across from them.

The restaurant has a different vibe from IHOP. It’s the same general clientele; Dan’s sure most of the people inside are tourists. There’s no clown though. Everything feels packed in closer together. A television mounted in a corner by the ceiling is playing muted cartoons. The menus are similarly sticky to those at IHOP, but they lack the graphic design finesse. Clipart of various foods and flamingos in sunglasses adorns the front cover.

Kathryn and Nigel are going to an art museum afterward, and let Phil and Dan know that they’re welcome to come along. Dan’s not sure what he wants to do, but he knows whatever it is, he wants to do it with Phil.

Phil’s head is down, as he slowly moves food around on his plate. “I’m not really…feeling well.” He looks up at Dan. “But I’ll come with if you want to go. I’ll probably feel better soon.”

His mouth is drawn tight and his eyebrows rest flat above his eyes, like it’s too much effort to emote with them. He gives Dan a strained smile. It’s a valiant effort, but Dan can see right through it.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired,” he says, speaking more to Phil’s parents. “All that sun and strenuous physical activity.”

Kathryn laughs. “Alright, we’ll drop you boys off before we go.”

Back at the house, Phil gets a glass of water from the sink and then begins to climb the stairs.

“Is it a headache?” Dan calls after him.

Phil stops halfway up and turns to look at him. “Sort of. Also just…other things. Unwanted thoughts leaking into Florida.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Phil frowns. “I’m sorry about the museum. If you really wanted to go, you didn’t have to say no.”

Dan shrugs. “I don’t really care. And I wasn’t lying—I am tired.” He’s experiencing the kind of warm, hazy exhaustion that comes from soaking in sunlight for hours.

Phil resumes his ascent. “I’m going to lie down. Text me if you need something.”

Dan listens for the sound of the bedroom door closing. He stands alone at the bottom of the stairs, wondering what to do. He could take a nap, but his brain isn’t as tired as his body and he’d probably just lie awake thinking too much. Then again, he’ll think too much no matter what he does, because he’ll be alone with no one to distract him. The internet can only do so much sometimes.

It’s selfish, but he wishes Phil hadn’t left him by himself. He doesn’t care that they skipped the museum, but he doesn’t want to be alone. But Phil doesn’t owe him time or attention. Dan is imposing on the Lesters. He’s not supposed to be here.

The downstairs is too open and empty. He feels like an intruder lurking about an empty house while the owners sleep unaware upstairs.

He tiptoes to his room and closes the door carefully so as not to make even the slightest bit of noise. It’s not  _ his  _ room, he reminds himself. It’s just a room he’s staying in temporarily. Martyn’s room. If Martyn hadn’t left early, where would Dan be sleeping? Downstairs on the sofa? He’s lucky Martyn left. He must be a shit replacement in all activities.

He curls up on his bed and stares at the wall. He should really get his phone. Any distraction is better than none. He doesn’t. Unwanted thoughts are leaking into Florida.

Thoughts like: the Lesters are tired of his presence. They can’t wait to be free of him. It’ll be the same back in London. His flatmates will be disappointed to see him. There will probably be someone else already living in the closet he calls a bedroom. He can’t go back home to Wokingham. Even if his mum let him stay there indefinitely, he wouldn’t want to. He hates it there. His childhood bedroom preserves memories of fear and unhappiness like a time capsule of negative experiences. He can’t go back to university. Would they even let him reenroll? Could he get another loan? Who would he live with off-campus?

There really is no place for him anywhere.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe deeply. Everything’s fine. Sure, his life has no purpose and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive back in London with no money to pay rent. But it’s fine. Worse things happen.

There’s a soft knock on the door and he opens his eyes. He lays still, unsure of who’s there.

“Dan? Are you asleep?” Of course it’s Phil.

“No.” He sits up and gets out of bed too quickly, head spinning as he stumbles toward the door and opens it.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe and waiting for the blood to return to his brain.

Phil has taken his contacts out. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Would you like to play a game with me? On my laptop.”

“You’re feeling better?”

Phil shrugs. “I thought I wanted to be alone, but I guess I don’t.”

“I don’t want to be alone either,” Dan admits. He’s surprised by his own honesty.

Phil smiles. He raises his hand from his side as if about to reach out, but then lets it fall. “Great! Let’s go!”

They head downstairs, and Phil sets up his laptop on the kitchen table—the best flat surface available. He and Dan will have to sit next to each other and share the keyboard for the game he wants to play.

“You have to sit on this side and use the WASD,” says Phil, pointing at the left chair. “I’m going to use the arrow keys.”

Dan looks at the two chairs Phil has pulled together. The seats are touching.

“But I’m left-handed. And you’re right-handed. Our other arms will be squished in the middle.”

“But I can’t use WASD! It’s too confusing.”

“It’s exactly the same. There’s just letters instead of arrows.”

“It’s not the same at all,” says Phil, but he still sits down in the chair on the left. He positions his hand awkwardly on the keyboard.

“What are we playing anyway?” Dan asks, sitting down beside him.Their hands look huge on the small keyboard. There really isn’t a lot of space between them. They have to sit close to use it and to see the screen.

“ _ Operation: Alien _ . One of us has to defend the Earth and the other has to defend themselves. Because they are the alien.”

“Wow, great name. Is this some low-budget early access Steam game?”

“Yes.”

Phil clicks the little icon on his desktop and as the game starts up his laptop’s fans begin whirring.

“Uh, are you sure this isn’t going to explode?”

“I’ve played this loads and it’s never exploded.”

Dan struggles at first, not used to how the game works. Once he gets the hang of it, he finds the game is rather easy. They take turns being the aliens and the humans.

“Why are you so good at everything?” Phil grumbles, after losing the third match in a row to Dan.

“Why are you so bad?” Dan teases. He looks over and immediately regrets saying it. Phil looks genuinely hurt.

The wounded expression fades quickly, replaced by a glint in his eye.

“One more match. I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Bring it.”

Phil chooses to be the aliens. Everything proceeds as normal. Dan is closing in on the final alien enclave when suddenly, a purple beam shoots out of the ground, instantly vaporizing his entire team of remaining scientists. Phil’s won.

He stares at the screen, stunned. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Secret special attack! I couldn’t remember how to do it earlier. Then I had to charge it and  _ zwoomph _ . Annihilation.”

Phil wiggles in his chair, delighted by his victory. He looks cute, but Dan’s competitive side isn’t charmed.

“Do  _ I  _ have a secret special attack?” 

“Yeah.” He’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Dan jabs him in the arm with his finger. “Cheater!”

Phil laughs openly and scoots his chair away from Dan. “How’s it cheating? If you’re so good, you should’ve figured it out on your own.”

Dan continues to pout while Phil closes out the game. He crosses his arms over his chest and slumps in his chair.

Phil opens up twitter. He’s already logged in as  _ amazingphil. _ Bigheaded much? Dan is impressed to see that he has around 500 followers. His own twitter has about 100, which he thought was a lot considering he’s just some random guy. He makes a mental note to follow Phil later.

_ The aliens have taken Florida. Luckily I am one of them,  _ Phil types, ending the tweet with an alien emoji before posting it.

“What is that supposed to make people think?”

“That I’m an alien and I’m having a great time in Florida?”

Phil closes out the browser window. Dan will have to investigate later. He wonders if Phil has tweeted anything else about things they’ve done together.

Kathryn and Nigel return in time for them all to make and eat dinner together. The dinner conversation focuses around the things they saw at the museum. Dan tries to be attentive, but he’s easily distracted by other thoughts.

Under the table, he opens twitter on his phone. He finds Phil and follows him, then reads some of his tweets. Most of them make no sense, at least not to a person without any background knowledge of what he’s talking about. The most recent one before today’s is from last week, before Dan arrived in Florida.

_ Went to gatorland to return my brother to his family _

He scrolls a bit more and finds one that makes him freeze.

_ Just saw a guy who looks like if Thor and Zac Efron had a baby together. I love America _

“Well, Dan,” says Nigel, drawing him back into the conversation.

“Yes?” He looks up, locking his phone and resting it on his thigh.

“We’re flying back on Tuesday.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Everything starts sinking inside him. Tuesday. That’s so soon. 

Kathryn smiles at him. “If there’s somewhere here you’d like to go next, we can take you there before we leave. Or, if you’re ready to go home, we can help you figure out getting to the airport.”

“Thanks.” He stares down at his plate. He knows there’s nowhere else for him to go in Florida. But he doesn’t want to return to London either. He probably doesn’t even have enough money for a ticket back.

Under the table, Phil presses his knee to the side of Dan’s.

“I’ll help you book a flight,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Dan repeats. He can’t look at Phil, but he doesn’t move his leg away.

The conversation shifts to other topics, but Dan is fully checked out for the rest of the meal. He excuses himself early and goes upstairs, despite feeling guilty about not helping clean up. He returns to his bed to curl up just like before, except now the room is dark and his worries fill the limitless empty space.

After twenty minutes of lying still and drowning in a sense of doom, there’s a knock on the door.

“Dan?”

It’s Phil’s voice. Dan rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “Come in.”

Phil eases the door open. “Why’s it so dark in here?” He turns on the light and Dan flinches, closing his eyes against the sudden burst of brightness.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Sorry.”

Dan opens his eyes again and raises himself up on his elbows. Phil is carrying his laptop. He walks over to the bed.

“Scooch.”

Dan sits up properly and moves over so Phil can sit next to him. Phil puts his laptop on his lap and angles it so Dan can see the screen too.

“Okay, so I’ve found a couple flights leaving on Tuesday from Orlando to London. Unfortunately, there’s no seats left on our flight, but we should still be able to leave the same day.”

Phil has at least seven tabs open, all different travel sites listing dates and times and airfare. He switches back and forth between a few, scrolling past numbers that are far too large.

“Phil…”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t afford any of these.” Dan’s been avoiding checking his balance since his last big purchase—the ticket to Florida—but he knows there’s less than a hundred pounds in his account.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it and you can just pay me back later.” 

Dan’s not sure he heard that right. Phil can’t be that stupid.

“No, you won’t. Absolutely not.”

“Why? It’s not a problem.” Phil is focused on the screen.

“Yes it is! You are not buying me a plane ticket!”

Phil sighs and looks him in the eye. “It’s my money, Dan.”

“And you’re just going to waste your money on some guy you’ve just met? And just trust that he’ll pay you back instead of never talking to you again?”

Phil holds eye contact. Dan was annoyed that Phil wasn’t looking at him before, but now he can’t handle the intensity of his stare.

“I’m not wasting money on some guy. I’m helping out a specific guy. You.”

Dan has to look away. “I don’t even have a job. If I let you do this, I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”

“It doesn’t matter. Right now we just need to make sure you don’t get stranded here. Unless…do you  _ want _ to stay?”

“No,” he replies immediately.

“That’s settled then.” Phil nods and turns back to the screen. Dan watches his face.

“Here’s one! This flight leaves from the same terminal as ours. It’s two hours later but we’ll still be able to go to the airport together if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Okay,” he whispers. There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t raise his voice any louder.

He watches as Phil clicks to purchase the tickets.

“I’m going to put in my credit info next, so close your eyes.”

Dan manages a breathy laugh and closes his eyes. He wants to rest his head on Phil’s shoulder. So he does. Phil stiffens for a second, but then resumes typing.

“You’re really stupid,” Dan murmurs, eyes still closed. “But you’re also nice.”

“Thanks. You’re just stupid.”

Dan’s eyes fly open and the lump in his throat dissolves. He lifts his head.

“Hey! Just for that, I’m going to steal your identity.” He looks at the screen but all he sees is a page confirming the purchase.

“Too late!” Phil laughs and closes his laptop.

He leaves soon after. The purpose of his visit to Dan’s room is, after all, accomplished. Dan would have loved to just sit close together for a bit longer. Lay his head back down on Phil’s shoulder or put his arm around him. But Phil seems antsy, and he lets him go.

He can’t believe Phil just bought him a plane ticket home. Or rather, he can believe it, but he feels like he should still be protesting He shouldn’t be so okay with it. He shouldn’t be okay with any of this. Staying with the Lesters, eating their food, going on excursions with them. Wearing Phil’s clothes and a pair of pants Phil’s mum bought him. He doesn’t remember what he expected to happen when he got on the plane, but it was none of this. It’s like he’s dreaming. Maybe he is.

Dan is awoken by the roar of thunder in the middle of the night. He sits straight up in bed and watches as the room is brightened by lightning, followed by more thunder. He gets out of bed and draws up the blinds on the small window. The rain is heavy and leaves and other debris swirl in the wind.

He hears the click of a door closing in the hallway. He turns around and walks to his own door, opening it just in time to see the shadowy outline of Phil disappearing down the stairs. He follows slowly, but doesn’t tiptoe. He’s not trying to sneak up on Phil. If anything, he wants Phil to hear him approaching before he arrives.

It must work, because when he steps into the lounge, Phil is waiting for him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling.

Dan smiles back. “Hey.”

“Come see,” Phil says, walking away toward the mudroom.

Dan follows. They stand beside each other in front of the sliding glass door and watch the rain fall in a heavy cascade. Flashes of lightning illuminate the sky.

“I love storms,” Phil says softly, gazing out the window. “Especially lightning. It’s just so chaotic but normal. This magical thing happens all the time, all over the world, but we don’t even think about it.”

Dan looks at Phil. His eyes are wide-open with excitement, roaming the sky; his lips are slightly parted. There’s also something tender in his expression. Something loving.

Lightning strikes closer and Dan jumps a bit at the thunder. Phil says “Oh!” very quietly.

Dan finds himself inching closer to Phil. He may be imagining it, but Phil seems to be drawing near to him too. They both gaze out through the glass. Dan can’t tell if Phil’s arm is actually brushing against his or if it’s just the proximity convincing him it is. Electricity bridging the gap.

He’s about to turn his head to face Phil when there’s a huge flash of light in the sky. He watches, awestruck, as a giant sphere of green light hovers in the sky for a few seconds, and then explodes before his eyes.

“Oh my god!” Phil exclaims.

“Did you see that?!”

“Yes!”

“What the fuck was it?”

“I think it was ball lightning,” says Phil. “No one really knows what it is and a lot of people don’t even think it exists.”

“Well we just saw it, so I’d say it does. Unless we’re both hallucinating.”

“I wish I could’ve taken a photo with my brain,” says Phil, wiggling his fingers by his temples and making the sound of a camera shutter, “You know, I used to want to be a weatherman.”

Dan can’t help but smile. There’s a spell cast over everything. The sound of the rain, the smell of the cool air. Phil’s presence, so close and so lively. It’s like a lucid dream and Dan would hate to wake up. Dan doesn’t believe in magic or fate, but he knows he won’t forget this moment and this lightness in his chest for a long time, if ever.

The storm starts to pass on. No more lightning strikes; the thunder becomes a distant grumble. But the rain persists. They leave the mudroom and go back to the lounge, where they stand together in the center of the room.

Dan’s not sure what to do next. He doesn’t want to break the spell of the storm. Phil sways back and forth on his feet.

“Are you going back to bed?” Dan asks.

“I should. But I’m so awake now.”

Dan wishes he could say the same, but he’s drained. He’d been sleeping fitfully, rolling from one vague, unpleasant dream to the next, sheets twisting around his body. He’s calmer now and should take advantage of that by going back to sleep.

“Well, I’m not. Think I’ll go upstairs.”

“Okay,” says Phil, sinking down into an armchair. “I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t say  _ if you need me _ , but that’s what Dan hears. He skims his hand over the top of Phil’s head on his way past. It’s an ambiguous gesture. He’s not sure what he means by it, and he doesn’t stop to look back at Phil and try to read his reaction. He just wanted to touch him one last time before he left the room.

**SUNDAY**

It rains off and on all day on Sunday. Dan had no idea Florida could be so rainy. He had presumed it was a land of endless sunshine. Over breakfast, Phil informs him that Miami is one of the rainiest cities in the United States.

“More rain than Seattle. Seattle’s not even top ten.”

“We’re nowhere near Miami.”

“There are quite a few very rainy cities in Florida. The thing about Seattle though, is that even if there isn’t a lot of rain accumulation, there’s a lot of light rainy days, so it seems like there’s more rain falling than there is.”

“I get it. You wanted to be a weatherman.”

Dan has no idea if anything Phil’s saying is true or accurate, and he has half a mind to whip out his phone and double check, but he’s tired and can’t be bothered.

They sit at the kitchen table with their cereal. Dan slogged downstairs a little before ten, and Phil appeared a few minutes after. Kathryn and Nigel were, of course, already awake and dressed. They’re both reading in the lounge.

With all four of them inside, Dan is aware of just how small the house actually is. There were only two rooms downstairs, unless you counted the mudroom, but you can’t really hang out in there. Upstairs was just the bathroom and the three bedrooms. The amount of non-bedroom living space was tiny. Which is to say, Dan wasn’t keen on spending the day in the close, quiet company of Kathryn and Nigel.

Dan lets Phil shower first, warning him not to use up all the hot water. He doesn’t, but Dan’s shower is a lot shorter. When he gets back to his room, he finds that Phil has left a folded t-shirt on his bed. The shorts Dan borrowed yesterday are still lying on his floor. The bright green color of the shirt is disgusting, and the fit is a little tight for Dan, but he assumes that at this point in the trip Phil doesn’t have a lot of clean shirts to offer. Dan wonders if the Lesters did any laundry during the trip. A little family outing to the laundromat.

He goes back to the bathroom to check his look. He’s starting to not hate his curly hair so much. The humidity is doing him no favors, but in a dryer environment, with a new cut and style, it might actually look good.

It’s a lazy day. Kathryn and Nigel read while Dan and Phil busy themselves on their phones. Then Nigel goes into the kitchen to do some sketching and Kathryn joins him to do some journaling. She shows Dan the book she bought in a “darling little shop.” It has pressed flowers and embroidery on the cover and it kind of makes him want to cry.

With his parents in the kitchen, Phil turns on the television. Dan makes it through several episodes of a home renovation show before he’s overcome by drowsiness. It could be the rain and the dim room. He’s also fed up with watching the reno team install the same boring white subway tile in every bathroom. He appreciates simplicity, but at a certain point it just seems repetitive and uninspired. And sometimes, Dan just gets tired. No matter how much or how long he sleeps, his body and brain insist it’s not enough.

He excuses himself and goes upstairs, crawling into bed. He’ll just have a little nap and he’ll feel better.

Dan wakes up two hours later. His eyes burn, his mouth is dry, and his skull feels tight around his brain. He needs water.

He fumbles for his phone, groaning when he sees how long he’s slept. He has a text from Phil, sent over an hour ago.

_ Lunch downstairs if you’re hungry  _ with a smiling emoji.

He uses the bathroom and tries to sort out his hair and wrinkled clothes, then shuffles downstairs, where he can hear lively voices coming from the kitchen. He peeks in.

The Lesters are sat around the kitchen table, playing a card game. Phil currently has his head in his hands, so things must not be going well for him. Dan looks closer at the cards and sees they’re playing UNO.

Kathryn spots him lurking.

“Dan! Would you like to join us? Are you hungry?”

Phil’s head whips up.

“Um. Maybe a little,” says Dan. “Hungry. A little hungry.”

“There’s some leftovers in the fridge,” says Nigel. “Help yourself.”

Dan is self-conscious, making his way around the table to get to the refrigerator. He wishes the Lesters would just unpause their game and continue, but they don’t until he’s sitting down.

“You can join in after this game if you like, dear,” says Kathryn.

Dan nods. For now, he’s happy just to eat and spectate. He watches the game unfold, but he’s not paying close attention to any one hand. Every time Phil starts whining about something, he smiles.

“UNO!” Nigel shouts, louder than Dan’s ever heard him speak. He jumps in his chair.

“No!” Phil cries, throwing the four cards in his hand down on the table. Kathryn just laughs.

They draw Dan into the next game. He doesn’t really know how to play, but they explain the rules and it’s quite simple.

The first time Phil doesn’t realize he has UNO and Dan calls him on it, he scowls at him while he swipes two cards from the draw pile. When Dan hits him with a draw four wild card, he shoots him a death glare.

“I hate you,” he says, taking his cards.

“Phil! Be a good sportsman or don’t play at all”

“Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dan.”

When Kathryn looks away, he sticks his tongue out at Dan.

Dan can’t believe what a good time he’s having.

In the evening Kathryn announces, that rain or shine, she and Nigel are going out to dinner. Phil and Dan are encouraged to come.

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in the house all day.”

They’re still sitting at the kitchen table, although UNO ended a while ago. Dan’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Phil, who’s sitting across from him.

_ Do you want to go? I don’t care either way _

_ Not really  _ he texts back.

Phil looks up from his lap.

“I think I’d rather stay here. What about you, Dan?”

“Uh, yeah, me too. Sorry.”

Kathryn shakes her head at the two of them. She says something about not taking full advantage of the holiday, and then ten minutes later, she and Nigel are out the door.

“Let’s get takeaway,” Phil suggests, as soon as the car disappears.

They end up debating whether to get Indian or Chinese for forty-five minutes, finally settling on Chinese because the restaurant is closer and by then they’re both quite hungry. Phil makes Dan call and place the order.

They order too much food and eat all of it. The restaurant provides four fortune cookies.

“Okay, we’ll leave those two for my parents, but we need to eat ours now, says Phil, pushing one toward Dan.

“I dunno if I can handle any more food.”

“You at least have to read your fortune.” Phil says this like he can’t believe Dan doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

Dan rolls his eyes but he grabs the cookie and tears open the plastic wrapper. He cracks it open and reads the message on the little slip of paper out loud.

“ _ An alien of some sort will be appearing to you shortly _ .” He looks up at Phil and frowns. “But you’re already here?”

“It does  _ not _ say that.” Phil tries to lean across the table and snatch the paper out of Dan’s hands, but Dan holds it out of reach.

“It does! Look,” he holds the paper out for Phil to read. “No touching.”

Phil squints at the message. “Wow.”

“Now you.”

Phil’s cookie ends up crushed rather than neatly halved like Dan’s. He shakes a crumb off the paper.

“ _ Flattery will go far tonight. _ ” He considers the message for a second before he looks up. “Dan, have I ever mentioned you have beautiful teeth?”

“Shut the fuck up and eat the cookie.”

Phil pops the whole broken mess into his mouth, smiling as he chews.

They clear away the take out containers and wipe down the table, removing the sticky residue of various sauces. Phil keeps giving Dan bizarre compliments.

“Your knees look especially vibrant today.”

“Shut up.”

“Are those new nostrils?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

The worst part is he says each one with such sincerity that Dan’s actually a bit bashful. He waits for Phil to say something that isn’t so clearly a joke, but he never does.

They migrate out to the lounge.

“I want to watch another horror movie,” says Phil, flopping down on the sofa and grabbing the remote from the armrest.

Dan sits down beside him, slouching and rubbing a hand over his full stomach.

“I’ve never heard of this one,” says Phil, selecting a channel. “I hope it won’t make you cry again.”

Dan’s jaw drops and he slaps Phil’s arm.

“I didn’t cry!”

Phil just covers his face with his arm, smiling into the crook of it.

The movie ends up being too boring for them to make it through more than twenty minutes. They exchange a glance and Phil lifts the remote and turns off the TV. Without its glow, the room is dark. Just enough light bleeds in from the kitchen to allow them to see. Dan’s not sure if it’s still raining, but the sun has set.

“Well,” says Phil.

“Well.”

The quiet is tense. Phil looks relaxed, so maybe it’s just Dan. He sits stiffly and watches Phil’s face.

“I know,” says Phil, eyes widening as he begins to smile. “We should have a sleepover.”

Dan stares. Phil looks at him expectantly. He’s not sure what Phil means or what he should say.

“We can put our mattresses on the floor in my room. Eat snacks. Tell  _ spooky _ stories.”

“How old are you again?”

Phil puts his hand right above Dan’s knee, and Dan can’t tell if he knows he’s done it or not. 

“My friend Anja and I did that for a couple nights when we were here together. To be fair, we were fifteen at the time, but it was a lot of fun.”

For a brief moment, Dan experiences a sting of jealousy, which is ludicrous considering Phil is talking about an event from ten years ago. All he knows is he’s now hyped for this sleepover.

“I’m in. Let’s do this.”

They change into pajamas first. Bringing Dan’s mattress down the hall to Phil’s room is a more arduous task than expected. Dan’s not sure if they’re both just out of shape, or if the mattress is stuffed with bricks in the center. They end up dragging it on its side to the door. Turning it around to enter the room is harder still, but they manage.

Phil’s mattress they just have to push off the bed. There’s not much floor space, so their mattresses are lined up right beside each other. It’s like they’ve made a double bed. Dan almost makes a joke about the set-up being romantic, but that hits too close to his genuine feelings.

Phil places his laptop near one end of the mattresses, on the seam between them. They draw the blinds and turn off the lights so that the screen is the only lightsource in the room.

Phil lies on his stomach, head propped up by a pillow under his chin, and Dan gets down and mirrors his pose. Dan watches Phil’s finger slide over the trackpad as he opens up youtube. He has such delicate hands.

“Do you want to watch a three part video series on an unsolved murder at an abandoned theme park, or this video about a girl who says she can speak dolphin?”

“Why not both?”

Phil leans away from the mattress to reach under his bed. Dan lets his gaze linger on the strip of skin revealed by his shirt riding up his hips. It’s not like Phil can see him. Phil fumbles around and sits back up with the magic 8-ball in his hands.

“Oh, wise and powerful 8-ball, should we begin with murder or dolphins?”

“Phil, that’s not gonna—”

He beckons for Dan to move closer so he can read the answer too.

_ Most likely. _

Phil stares at it and Dan stares at him, waiting for the lightbulb to go on. 

“ _ Oh _ . Right.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Did you expect the word ‘murder’ or ‘dolphins’ to appear?”

Phil frowns. “Whatever. We’re watching the dolphins first because I want to.” He drops the ball and lets it roll off the mattress and back under the bed.

They descend down a youtube hole of increasingly weird and sometimes disturbing videos. Around 1am, Phil gets up to use the bathroom, leaving Dan alone in the dark room. He finds a video of borzoi puppies and watches it while he waits.

Phil is gone for a while. His return is preceded by the aroma of salt and butter. He steps into the room and turns on the light, revealing a big bowl of microwave popcorn in his arms. Dan cheers. Once Phil’s placed the bowl on one of the mattresses, he goes to turn off the light again, fumbling his way back.

They sit up to eat, and Phil moves the bowl in between them. They let the videos autoplay, marveling at the nonsensical nature of the youtube algorithm and the journeys it take them on.

Then a video starts playing, and before Dan can even see what it is, Phil lunges forward and closes the whole browser.

“What the hell was that?”

“Nothing. I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

He stands up and uses the flashlight on his phone to find his way out of the room. “You can open it back up and watch some more stuff while I’m gone if you want.”

Dan looks at the capybara on Phil’s desktop background, and then down at the corner of the screen. It’s 2:36am. He opens Chrome and goes to Phil’s history, opening back up the recently closed tab.

It’s just some dude making a vlog. There’s 35k views, and the channel has 50k subs. The video is from two years ago. His accent is British, but Dan doesn’t recognize him, even though he watches a lot of youtube.

He hears the toilet flushing and quickly switches to a video about penguins. A minute later, Phil appears in the doorway.

“My turn,” says Dan, getting up as soon as Phil sits down. He leaves the penguin video playing.

When he returns, guided by his own phone flashlight, the laptop is closed and on the floor at the foot of Phil’s mattress. Phil is lying with his back to Dan and the door, a sheet wrapped around him.

“Phil?” Dan whispers, as he approaches. “Are you asleep?” He sinks down onto his mattress.

“No.”

Dan lies down on his back and pulls his own sheets up over his body. He listens to Phil breathing and doesn’t say a word.

An indeterminate amount of time passes, and Phil finally speaks, his voice so close though Dan can’t see him.

“I broke up with my boyfriend about a month before I came here.”

Dan doesn’t say a word.

“My longest relationship,” he continues, then laughs without humor. “Well, we weren’t even together for a year.”

Dan should say something so Phil knows he’s listening. “Yeah?” he asks, prompting Phil to tell him more if he wants. He hears Phil roll over to face him.

“I don’t want to go back to London. I know I’m just running from it. Not letting myself feel what I’m feeling but…I don’t want to be alone in my flat and just walk around thinking, here’s the mug he always used, and there’s the side of the bed he slept on whenever he stayed over. And the gifts he gave me that I don’t know what to do with.”

“I’m sorry, Phil.” It’s not everything Dan wants to say, but it’s something.

“No, I’m sorry.” Phil laughs again and Dan hates it, because he knows it’s not a genuine laugh. “This is Florida. I’m not supposed to be talking about things like this.”

“You can talk about it all you want.”

Phil sighs, long and shaky.

“I don’t even think I miss him. Not yet. I’m just afraid I made the wrong decision.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Also. He used to make youtube videos, before I met him. Just some vlogs.”

“Oh,” says Dan, realization dawning, “was that…?”

“Yeah.”

They let silence blanket them. It’s not uncomfortable. The room is still nearly pitch black; the shades on Phil’s window are doing their job well. It’s warm, but not hot. Phil feels close and yet far away all at once. The room is both small and vast.

Phil shifts on his mattress and sighs. Dan can just about make out the outline of him. He can maybe see the lump that is Phil’s head, and the smaller lump of his hand, resting near the seam between the mattresses.

“Are you asleep?” he says, to the shape that may be Phil.

“No. I can’t.”

Dan reaches out for Phil’s hand and finds it in the dark. His heart is pounding. He squeezes and Phil squeezes back.

“I’m really glad you came to Florida,” Phil whispers.

Dan finds he can’t speak. No words will come. So he just squeezes Phil’s hand again, tighter, and hopes he’ll understand.

Phil rubs his thumb on the back of Dan’s hand, and it feels like a smile.

Dan’s not sure who falls asleep first, but they don’t let go.

**MONDAY**

The next morning, while Phil is in the shower, Dan fights the urge to internet stalk Phil’s ex. He wants to find his youtube channel and watch all his videos. Try to get a feel for who he is and what Phil liked about him (and what he didn’t). See if he has any other social media. And if he can find any pictures of him and Phil together. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name.

He doesn’t look. Not here, not now. Back in London, maybe he'll poke about to his heart’s content. But while he and Phil are still together, he doesn’t want to spoil anything.

Instead, he looks under Phil’s bed. The 8-ball is lurking in the far corner. Feeling quite ridiculous, he gets down on his belly and crawls under just enough that he can reach out a long arm and nudge the ball in his direction.

When he sits up he notices dust all down the front of his shirt. He doesn’t know whether to judge Phil or the people who own the house.

Dan listens carefully. The shower is still running. Before Phil returns, he has some questions.

He feels about twelve years old, and he can’t bring himself to properly say it out loud, but he stills mouths the words.

“Does Phil like me?”

He flips the 8-ball down and back up.

_ Reply hazy, try again. _

He groans in frustration. This is so stupid.

He rewords the question, whispering now. “Is Phil interested in me? You know…romantically. Sexually.”

_ Concentrate and ask again. _

“Just tell me if I have a chance, you dick.”

_ Better not to tell you now. _

Dan lets the 8-ball fall from his hands onto the mattress and flops down on his back. He knows it’s just a toy and its answers mean nothing. But a little reassurance—however meaningless—would’ve been nice. He should just say something to Phil. Dial-up the flirting and see where that gets him. Do fucking  _ anything _ . But a part of him is viewing Phil as some sort of shy, easily frightened animal. He doesn’t want to push too hard or come on too strong. He doesn’t want Phil to pull away.

He doesn’t want to ruin their last day together.  _ Last day.  _ That really twists his stomach. What does he expect to gain in such a short amount of time, if he were to make a move? Just a hook-up? Is that all he wants?

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. Tomorrow morning they’ll be headed for the airport. This is it. Last chance to make something happen. Last chance to fuck something up.

Phil returns from the shower wrapped in three towels, looking so ridiculous it completely distracts Dan from the fact that under all of that, he’s naked. He smells sweet and lemony and his cheeks are flushed. He shoos Dan from the room so he can get dressed.

Dan takes his time in the shower. Part of him wants to get it over with as quickly as possible, to cut down on the amount of time spent away from Phil. The other part is convinced that time ceases to pass while he’s in there, and by staying beneath the spray he can hold back the inevitable. This less rational part wins out.

By the time he’s dried and dressed, Phil is no longer in his room. Dan peeks in there at the two mattresses still on the floor. They’ll have to maneuver his out and back to his room.

He finds Phil downstairs, drinking coffee and eating cereal at the kitchen table.

“Lucy Charms,” he says, picking up the red box and shaking it at Dan. It sounds nearly empty. “This stuff is like gold in the U.K. I’ve been rationing it, but there’s enough left if you want some.”

Dan can almost smell the sugar wafting off of Phil’s bowl from across the table.

“I’ll pass.”

He helps himself to a yogurt from the fridge. They eat together without speaking. It’s peaceful. Dan imagines what it would be like to wake up every day and eat breakfast across the table from someone he cared about. That simple domesticity.

When Phil gets up to rinse his bowl Dan asks him where his parents are.

Phil shrugs, his back to Dan as he stands at the sink. “A walk maybe? The car’s still here. Or they’re just having a lie-in.”

Dan taps his phone to see the time. It’s 11am, so he doubts they’re still asleep.

Phil turns around and sits back down at the table, giving Dan his full attention.

“You never got to use the pool. And now it’s raining and there might be lightning later.”

“It’s fine. I don’t have swim trunks anyway.”

“Who said anything about trunks?” says Phil. He tries to wink but it just looks like he has something in his eye.

“Hot.” Dan keeps his voice flat, not wanting to reveal how into that idea he actually is, because Phil is clearly joking.

“We should at least go stick our feet in once it stops raining. You can’t come all the way to Florida and not feel that water between your toes.”

“That pool water that’s the same as pool water everywhere else?”

Phil bites his lip and drums his fingers on the table.

“No two pools are the same.”

They drift into the lounge and end up watching some strange American cartoon about weasels. Dan thinks it’s aimed at children but he can’t tell for sure. Phil hops up every few minutes to check if it’s still raining. The second the drops cease to fall he starts badgering Dan about going out to the pool.

He turns off the TV and goes to stand in front of Dan on the sofa.

“Hey, I was watching that,” says Dan. He has no idea what was going on but maybe if he kept watching he’d care enough to find out.

Phil tugs at his arm. “Come on, Dan. Pool. You. Now.”

Dan grumbles theatrically but he gets to his feet. As soon as he’s standing, Phil abandons him, running away and up the stairs.

“I’ll meet you out there!”

“Seriously?” he says, to the empty room.

Dan makes his way outside via the mudroom. Sunlight glints off wet blades of grass. He sits down on the wet but rapidly drying tile on the edge of the pool. The water is a lovely aqua blue and seems to glitter in the sun. Its picturesque appearance is only marred by the dead bugs and leaves drifting on the surface. He gets up, grabs the pool skimmer, and scoops up debris while he waits for Phil.

“You look like a pool boy deep in thought.”

Dan looks up to see Phil across the water, standing right outside the mudroom door with his arms crossed.

“A pool boy with big plans and ambitions,” Phil continues.

Dan laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t have any ambitions.”

Phil walks over and sits on the edge of the pool, where Dan first did when he came out. 

“C’mere. I brought your sunglasses.” He sticks his feet in the water and sighs.

Dan puts down the skimmer and walks around the perimeter of the pool. He sits down next to Phil and lowers his own legs into the water. It’s colder than he expected. He takes the sunglasses Phil offers and puts them on, closing his eyes and raising his face to the sky.

He takes in everything. He can smell chlorine and suncream and wet earth. His face and shoulders are warm, and the palms of his hands are almost too hot against the tile. His feet are cool. Somewhere—or everywhere—bugs are buzzing and chirping.

He feels Phil shift beside him and opens his eyes. Phil is lying on his back now, hands clasped over his stomach, feet still in the water. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes are closed.

Dan watches the slow rise and fall of Phil’s chest as he breathes. He has the faintest smile on his lips, and lazily moves his feet back and forth in the water.

Dan wants to lean over and kiss him, his face all warm from the sun. He wants to move his own foot through the water and catch Phil’s while it sways. He wants to lie down and pull Phil’s hands apart so he can hold one instead.

He reaches out and gently taps the tip of Phil’s nose. Phil doesn’t open his eyes, just scrunches it and frowns for a second.

Dan pokes him again, this time pressing his finger to the softness of Phil’s bottom lip. Phil’s mouth opens slightly, but so do his eyes, and Dan pulls his hand back.

“What are you doing?” Phil asks. He sounds amused.

“Thought maybe you were asleep,” Dan says, even though he didn’t.

“Wide awake.” He closes his eyes again and breathes in deep.

Dan watches him. He looks so peaceful and vulnerable. He looks like he feels safe.

Dan eases back until he’s lying down beside Phil. It’s not exactly comfortable. The tile is hard on the back of his skull. He closes his eyes and tries to go to the headspace he thinks Phil is currently occupying. Somewhere relaxing.

This time tomorrow he’ll be on a plane, without Phil, on his way back to London. They’re both going to the same place, but it doesn’t feel like it. London is a big city. Right now, they’re spending time together because of circumstance and proximity. When Phil’s not forced to be with Dan every day, will he ever choose to be with him?

Dan has no idea where in London Phil actually lives. He also doesn’t know what on earth Phil does for a living that allows him to live in London alone and buy plane tickets for strangers. Dan lives with four people in a shitty flat. His bedroom is the smallest one because he pays the least amount of rent. It’s not even an actual bedroom. There are no windows and the length of his bed just barely fits between the walls.

And now he’s unemployed. He knows he can get another job, but whatever it is, he doubts the income will be any less meager. He has no upward momentum. It’ll take him a while to pay Phil back. At least that will extend the period of their communication. Phil can send him threatening texts every day until he pays up. 

Something wet hits Dan’s cheek and he opens his eyes. Phil is still lying beside him. The color of the sky is obscured by his sunglasses, so he lifts them off his eyes, just as another raindrop hits him, this time in the chest. He sits up and slides back from the edge of the pool, lifting his lower legs and feet out of the water.

Dan watches as dark spots form on the tile and on Phil’s t-shirt. It’s beginning to properly rain now, but Phil doesn’t stir.

“Phil?”

Phil just keeps breathing evenly, eyes closed as water droplets pool on the lenses of his sunglasses.

“Phil? Are you asleep?” He prods Phil’s side with his big toe. Phil flinches but doesn’t get up.

Dan moves closer and looks down at Phil’s face. Water drips off the ends of Dan’s hair onto him, but he still doesn’t open his eyes or move away. Dan leans in closer, his face hovering above Phil’s. His head blocks the rain. All of Phil’s features are still and composed. His face is a pale, blank mask. Dan is transfixed.

Phil’s eyes fly open, and something grabs Dan’s ankle. He shrieks, falling back and trying to pull away from whatever has him in its grasp. He breaks free and looks down at the pale hand that just released him.

Phil sits up, laughing with his other hand to his mouth.

“You…your face!” He widens his eyes in mock terror.

Dan gets to his feet, heart still racing.

“You sick freak. I should drown you in the fucking pool.”

Phil laughs harder and then begins to cough from all the water running into his nose and mouth.

“I’m locking you out here,” Dan declares, making his way to the mudroom door. He slides it open and shuts it behind him. He turns around and locks it, then stands with his arms crossed looking out. Phil scrambles to his feet and hurries over to the door.

“Dan!” he presses his hands to the glass and hits Dan with sad puppy eyes. His black fringe is hanging over half his face and he sticks his bottom lip out.

Dan rolls his eyes, then lets his gaze dip down to where Phil’ t-shirt is clinging to his chest. It’s really starting to pour out there. Phil slaps the glass.

“Dan!”

He opens the door and Phil barrels past him into the mudroom. They stand together, shivering and dripping water all over the floor.

“You could’ve just gone around to the front door.”

“I could’ve just gone around to your mum.”

Dan can’t believe Phil managed to scare him again. He was supposed to get Phil back after the incident with the doll. But Phil is twice as wet as him and looks quite pathetic, so maybe he got his revenge after all.

He decides to run and get some towels, only because if Phil goes there will be even more of a mess to clean up. He dashes upstairs to the bathroom, like he thinks if he runs fast enough, the drops of water won’t have time to hit the floor. He peels off his wet clothes and dries himself off. Wrapped in his towel, he goes to his room to put on dry clothes.

“Dan! What’s taking so long?”

There was no sense in running back downstairs while he was still wet. But now he shouldn’t leave Phil waiting. So he goes to the bathroom and gets the biggest towel he can find.

He nearly drops it when he walks into the mudroom. He’s unprepared for the sight of Phil glaring at him while wearing nothing but his damp pants.

“Gimme that.” 

Phil snatches the towel out of Dan’s limp hands and wraps it around himself like a cape, depriving Dan of the visual he hasn’t even begun to process. 

It’s a beach towel, and Phil is covered from neck to knee. He pulls the edges up over his nose to cover himself further. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks at Dan. He walks toward him and Dan has to step aside to let him pass.

“You should probably clean up this mess you made before my parents get home,” he says, eyes following the trail of water Dan has left across the floor.

Dan finds his voice. “You’re such a…brat.”

Phil looks over his shoulder at Dan and sticks his tongue out at him, then he hurries away, laughing as he winds the corner to the stairs.

Dan listens to him thumping all the way up. He leans against the wall and collects himself. Phil’s right, he should clean up the floor (and his thoughts) before Kathryn and Nigel return.

Time feels slow for the rest of the day, and yet it passes too quickly. The air feels heavy, not with humidity, but with something more akin to doom. It’s an atmosphere Dan can only liken to the feeling he’d get as a child, when the end of summer drew near and the beginning of the school year began to loom overhead.

The rain has ceased by the time Phil’s parents return in the evening. Apparently they’d been out with another couple from one of the nearby holiday homes, who they’d made friends with earlier on in the trip.

“Lots of packing to do tonight,” says Nigel, wrapping an arm around Kathryn’s shoulders.

She smiles and reaches up to pat his hand. “It’s sad to be leaving, but it will be so nice to be home.”

Dan doesn’t think it will be so nice. He feels sick, his stomach full of stones. He glances over at Phil and judging by his pained expression, he isn’t excited either. He remembers what Phil told him about not wanting to return to London and face his feelings. Dan would like to believe that Phil doesn’t want to go home because he likes spending time with Dan, but it probably has nothing to do with him.

Unlike everyone else in the house, Dan doesn’t have much packing to do. He hangs the wet clothes he borrowed from Phil over the rod in the shower so they can dry and Phil can pack them. He shoves the same shit he brought with him to Florida back into his messenger bag, with the addition of the pants and socks Kathryn bought him.

They’ll be leaving for the airport early. The Lester’s flight is set to depart around 9am, and Dan’s flight leaves at 11. So they’ll travel there together, but then he’ll be alone for two hours. He’s going to buy an adapter for his phone at the airport, so he can at least keep it charged and use it to keep himself from freaking out about returning to see what’s happened to his life while he was running from it.

He spreads his own clothes out on the floor. His striped jumper and skinny jeans look almost foreign to him, after a week of bright t-shirts and ill-fitting shorts. He likes his clothes, and he wants to wear them. But maybe he isn’t ready to feel like himself again.

There’s a knock on his door.

“Come in.” He already knows who it is.

Phil sits down next to him on the floor, where he’s staring at his clothes.

“This sort of looks like the outline of a dead body.”

“Are you finished packing?”

“Mostly. Everything but the things I’ll need to use tomorrow. And these.” He pinches a bit of the fabric of the t-shirt Dan’s wearing between his fingers. It is, of course, his shirt.

“Sorry. I can just change into my clothes for now if you want to pack them tonight?”

Phil let’s go of the fabric and shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. I’ll just shove them in my bag tomorrow after you change.”

“Okay.” Maybe tomorrow Dan will forget to give Phil his pajamas back. Maybe Phil’s alligator shirt will find its way into his own bag.

Phil sighs. “We should probably go to sleep soon. But we need to get your mattress back in here first.”

“That sounds atrocious. I could just sleep on your floor again.”

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says Phil, and Dan stops breathing. The rejection is so clear in his words. He doesn’t want Dan in his space anymore, he doesn’t want—

“I seriously need to sleep tonight. No distractions.”

Dan pulls himself back from the edge. “I’m a distraction, am I?”

“A  _ huge _ distraction.” He smiles at Dan and holds his gaze.

Dan’s going to miss this. Looking at Phil as he looks back at him. That connection.

Phil looks away and bites his lip. He gets to his feet.

“Alright, I’ve let you distract me enough tonight. I’m going to bed.”

Dan watches Phil walk out, closing the door behind himself. His chest is hollow.

**TUESDAY**

Dan barely sleeps all night. He doesn’t so much wake up on Tuesday morning, rather at some point between night and morning, he has to accept the meaningless transition from one day to the next.

There’s a flurry of activity all around Dan. He’s ready before everyone else, sitting motionless in a chair in the lounge while the Lesters move about, calling out questions and bouncing anxiety off each other. Dan is already separating himself from them. He’s just a ghost in their house.

They’re taking the rental car to the airport, where there’s a drop off for it. Dan slides into the backseat next to Phil, who looks like he got just as much sleep as him. So much for removing distractions. Phil closes his eyes and leans back into the headrest, clenching his fists in his lap.

“Are you okay?” Dan asks, leaning close enough to Phil to speak without being overhead.

“No,” Phil grumbles. “My head hurts and I feel like I’m going to be sick if I open my eyes or keep talking.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Dan moves back out of Phil’s space.

Dan barely hears what Phil says next, but it sounds like  _ Not ‘cause of you. _

Dan watches the scenery go by out the window. He’s making the same trip he did with Kathryn on Wednesday but in reverse, and with new eyes. He’s not the same person he was when she picked him up on the side of the road a week ago. He isn’t drastically changed, but he doesn’t think you can run away to a foreign country and get taken in my strangers on holiday without a little bit of you being altered from the experience. At least he can’t.

They aren’t late arriving at the airport, but there’s still a sense of urgency permeating every step they take. Dan wishes they could all just slow down. Put off the inevitable. Maybe just not go at all.

Dan and the Lesters make it through security unscathed. The combination of the length of Dan’s stay in the U.S. coupled with his lack of luggage would probably raise more eyebrows if those two things weren’t encountered by different people.

Dan sits in a chair next to Phil by the Lester’s gate. Phil has had a coffee and is looking much more alive.

“I don’t hate flying,” he says, bouncing his leg. “I just hate the waiting before you’re actually in the air. What if the plane isn’t here? What if they won’t let me on? What if the engine’s broken and we can’t take off?”

“Then they let you off and you come back inside. And wait for the next plane.”  _ With me _ , Dan thinks.

“Exactly! More waiting! It’s endless.”

Dan wishes it was endless, because before long 9am is drawing near, and it looks like Phil’s flight is going to be departing on time. When first class begins boarding, Dan’s heart starts pounding. The Lesters are flying economy, but every person that passes by is one person closer to them leaving him behind.

“Dan, would you come here a second?”

He tears his eyes away from the people queuing up, and looks over to Kathryn, who’s standing by herself away from the others. Dan looks at Phil, questioning, but Phil only shrugs.

He gets up and approaches her. She’s so small, but her presence seems so much bigger. She smiles at him and reaches out to take one of his hands.

She presses a little square of paper into it. When she pulls away he looks down at it and sees a phone number written in clear, neat letters across the center.

“If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate,” she says.

Dan’s vision blurs. He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not going to cry here.

“And make sure you stay in touch with Phil. He’s been the happiest I’ve seen him in a while.” She steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “You’re good for him.”

The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. He hugs her back as best he can.

“Thank you, Kath,” he manages. If he says anything more he’ll cry, and he’s determined not to. Not a single tear, at least until the Lesters are in the air.

Behind them, business class is boarding. Kathryn and Dan walk back to join the others. Kathryn sits down beside Nigel, who looks up from his book to smile at her. Dan sits beside Phil, a small distance away.

“What’d she say?”

“That’s between me and your mum.”

Phil frowns. “I hope it wasn’t anything embarrassing.”

“It wasn’t.” He looks over at Kathryn. Their eyes meet briefly and they both smile.

Economy starts boarding. Dan and the Lesters all stand up. Their rows haven’t been called yet, but it’s a matter of minutes. Kathryn hugs Dan again, and Nigel pats him on the shoulder and wishes him luck. Then they both move off to the side, leaving Dan and Phil standing alone together.

There are so many things Dan wants to say. Things he doesn’t know how to say, not just because the words won’t come, but because he doesn’t know if words are capable of capturing what he’s thinking. His thoughts are too jumbled; his feelings are equally mixed. He wants to be both casual and sincere, dramatic and lighthearted. He wants this to be no big deal, but he doesn’t want it to seem like he doesn’t care.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says.

Phil smiles. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

“No.” Dan doesn’t have the energy to bant back.

“Well, I’m sure you will be soon enough. Once we’re back in London and I bother you all the time.”

He sounds sincere. His eyes are tired, but warm. Dan wishes his heart would stop beating so fast for just a minute.

“You want to see me when we’re in London?”

Now Phil looks confused. He doesn’t seem to understand that his words are a revelation to Dan.

“Uh, yeah? Of course? I didn’t buy you a ticket to London so you could ignore me when you get there.”

“I just thought—this isn’t just Florida?”

His mind is reeling. It wasn’t just a sexless holiday fling? A connection made in limbo that was doomed to dissolve once they exited that space?

“Now boarding rows D through F!”

“That’s us, child,” says Kathryn, as she and Nigel pass by Phil and Dan.

Dan swallows. He steps closer to Phil. Phil reaches out and tugs on the fabric of his jumper, pulling him even closer.

His face tilts up toward Dan, and Dan’s tilts down toward him.

“Welcome back to reality, Dan,” Phil whispers, and then their lips meet.

Phil kisses Dan in front of Kathryn and Nigel and everyone waiting at Gate 9. Dan kisses him back, and it doesn’t feel anything like a goodbye kiss. It’s a bit clumsy. He can Phil feel fighting not to let his lips fall away from their purpose and into a grin. It feels like the start of something. Something new, and vibrant, and real.

“Final call, boarding Rows D through F!”

Dan pulls back reluctantly.

“You need to go.”

Phil steps back and drops his hand. Dan’s not sure when he even began holding it. All his bodily awareness was focused on his lips.

Phil moves in again, this time just for a quick hug.

“I’m going to text you as soon as I land! Let me know when you’re home too!”

Dan watches Phil disappear and slowly makes his way back to the chairs. He sits down and that’s when he cries. He’s not sad. He’s not even crying about Phil specifically. He’s just overfilled with emotion and needs to release some of the pressure.

Two hours later, Dan is squished between a stranger and the window of a plane preparing to cross the Atlantic. His legs are already cramping. Dread soaks his brain. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him back in London. How many people are going to be angry with him? Does he even have a place to live still? Does anyone actually care that he left?

He’ll have to patch things up. Find a new job. Find a way to find fulfillment, because he knows he can’t let things keep going the way they are. Maybe he should talk to someone. Finally reach out to a doctor or a therapist like he’s thought about doing a hundred times. Talk to his family. Talk to the friends he always isolates himself from.

There’s one person he knows he’ll be talking to for sure. He has a sense of clarity about Phil he’s never experienced before. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen between them, but he knows something will. He thinks it’ll be something good.

In his messenger bag, there’s a big white t-shirt with an illustration of an alligator wearing sunglasses as it lounges by a pool. Dan doesn’t know if he’s going to return it, but he’s certain he’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/187061463990/tumblr_Ea3p83GoJLJk9DnKj)


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